


A Heart Out of Time

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: The Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Corporeal Bob, M/M, Mucho Angst, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: The past can come back to haunt you - literally. And sometimes you need help to find out who you really are.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I began this fic as a simple short ficlet response to a word challenge. It wasn’t long before Bob and Harry, but Bob in particular, were clamoring for a very different story. Backstories have been important to me in all my fandoms. They help me understand the characters and get inside their heads, but I suspect that Bob’s backstory has turned out to be more important to me than any other I’ve dreamed up. AU result of “What About Bob?”, resulting in utterly corporeal, flesh-and-blood Bob. Non-con only in Part One.

The storm that had been brewing over the city all day broke just as Harry got into the Bug to crawl home. It turned Chicago into a gritty, steaming jungle. It was a real deluge, almost a flash flood – the sort of rain where you can hardly see a car length in front of you, and all you want to do is get inside and be out of it. The power had gone out in some areas, and as he drove across town often the only light in the streets was the frequent flash of lightning, preceded by loud cracks and booms of thunder.

He’d expected to be home hours ago, having a cozy evening in with Bob. Instead, he’d gotten caught up in a homemade Santeria summoning-gone-wrong and here he was, late, hungry, bloody and sore. All he wanted was a hot shower, food and Bob, not necessarily in that order.

As he got out of the car, feeling every abrasion and bruise, he saw that the power was out here too. Great. No hot shower. No hot dinner. Still, he was home, and Bob would be waiting. But he would be soaked by the time he got inside.

He took down the wards and opened the door, slipping inside and shaking himself like a dog. Steam rose off his clothes.

“Bob?” he called out. Odd that he couldn’t see any light in the back of the apartment.

Without warning, he was grabbed from behind, his wrists held firmly behind his back.

“Where have you been?”

The voice was barely recognizable as Bob’s – harsh, and cold. Wow, he must be seriously pissed off. Had he forgotten Harry couldn’t use cell phones?

“Sorry, sorry. Things got complicated. I couldn’t…”

“Shut up,” the voice growled in his ear. “Inconsiderate bastard.”

“Bob, what the fu-”

“Shut UP!” Thunder rumbled loudly above them.

He was pushed against his desk, stumbling in the dark. His hands were now immobilized by magic, as he couldn’t feel Bob’s hands any longer; he heard the sound of a zipper behind him.

“Bob, wait a minute, just slow down.” Harry was beginning to feel a little panicked. Was this Bob, or some sort of evil doppelganger?

“Fuck you.” His own zipper was released, and his jeans and briefs yanked down to his knees.

“I said I was sor-”

“Not good enough.”

Shaking, Harry was on the verge of asking Bob if he was going to rape him when he heard a hurried search of the desk. There was a brief pause, and Harry felt a hard finger push something cold inside him and spread it with clinical precision. Bob was clearly very angry with him, but also apparently wasn’t intending to be deliberately vicious.

He was entered in one quick, deep thrust, with so much force that his chin slammed against the desk. He couldn’t find any balance because his hands were immobilized behind him. The only thing he could do was lay his face on the desk and hope he didn’t come in contact with anything sharp.

It hurt. Whatever Bob had used wasn’t as effective as regular lube, and he wasn’t exactly feeling relaxed right now. He’d never thought he’d consider Bob’s size a disadvantage, but then, he hadn’t envisioned this little scenario.

There was a furious anger behind every thrust, as if Bob felt the need to punish him for something. Hard, quick…and very unsettling. This was a side of Bob he’d seldom seen before, and it had never applied to him. Scary was putting it mildly.

“Thoughtless son of a bitch,” he heard behind him as he bit back a groan of pain.

Bob’s hands were either clamped rigidly on his hips where they would be leaving bruises, or pulling his hair, twisting his head back…wanting him to feel pain. What the hell was going on?

Growls of frustration and anger were being ground out at his back, ultimately eliding into hurt, almost wounded sounds. As the vocalizations muted, the anger behind the thrusts lessened slightly, if not the intensity. Just when Harry thought his aching back might break, Bob withdrew and pulled him up.

“In here,” he commanded, pushing Harry into the living room. Flashes of lightning lit their way. The smell of ozone was sharp in the air.

By the light of a single candle, he could finally see Bob’s face, intense and full of anger and pain. The normally pale eyes were all black pupil. There were large, dark blots of sweat where Bob’s shirt stuck to his body.

Wordlessly, Bob pulled off Harry’s jeans and underwear, tossing them over the couch to the floor. He shoved Harry’s legs back roughly, bringing him to the edge of the cushion.

Shit! Whatever this was, it had to stop, now, before things went so far that neither of them could go back. The spell Bob was using had worked because of the element of surprise. One thing Harry had finally realized over the years was that although Bob had the greater knowledge of matters arcane and probably always would, in terms of sheer magical juice, he was stronger than Bob. He had a natural, raw power that could, and had, shocked Bob many times. Apparently now was one of the times he needed to use it.

“BOB! Enough!” Harry growled. He threw out a curse that made Bob let go of him instantly, as if he’d been electroshocked. Bob snarled something at him, unseeing, unhearing. “Bob – STOP IT!” Harry demanded, using all his strength to fend Bob off.

Bob’s hair was plastered to his forehead and rivulets of sweat creased his face. The look in his eyes was oddly vacant, as if he wasn’t quite there. He looked at Harry and in a sense saw him, but in another sense Harry realized that he didn’t; he was lost in his own nightmares. He appeared caught in the grip of a passion he couldn’t control; his body was wrapped in an electricity of its own.

After what seemed to Harry like a very long time, the storms began to spend themselves – Bob’s against Harry, and Mother Nature’s above them. Thunder rumbled softly now, infrequent, followed at a distance by lacy flickers of lightning. He could still hear steady rain, but a slight breeze could now be felt bringing a welcome coolness to the atmosphere.

As his breathing slowed and his posture lost some of its tension, Bob continued to stand at the end of the couch, staring off into space. It almost looked like he was coming out of some sort of trance. Finally, their eyes met.

“Harry?” He sounded like a completely different person now. The anger was gone, replaced by uncertainty. “What happened here?”

Harry straightened up slowly, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he snapped.

“Why were you shouting at me? Why…um…why are your trousers missing?”

“Because you jumped me in the dark when I came in and pretty much raped me,” Harry told him bluntly.

“I what? Why on earth would I do that?” He registered shock at the idea. “This is a very bad joke, Harry.”

“Gods, I wish I was joking.” Harry looked him straight in the eye. “I was hurt and exhausted from a day of fighting the bad guys, and all I wanted was you and a hot shower, and what I got was you wanting to beat the crap out of me, swearing, trying to screw me into submission for – what, I don’t know. You hurt me – my body, and my heart too, when you did that. Why? What the fuck were you thinking? If I hadn’t been able to stop you, you would have really hurt me. That’s not a good feeling, Bob.”

Bob continued to stare down at him. Harry could see him slowly take in the state of his own clothes, and the blood, cuts and bruises on Harry’s body. Awkwardly, he straightened himself and zipped up his pants.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember,” he moaned. “Why would I do something so vile? I love you. Why would I - ?”

“I don’t know. Do you think someone could have put a spell on you?” Harry asked. He searched for any sign of cunning or subterfuge in Bob’s responses. As far as he could tell, Bob seemed genuinely puzzled and horrified, as if he’d been told he had done something disgusting during a seizure. “Alcohol? Any kind of potion or spell you’ve been playing around with?”

Bob shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. I was cataloging your books and freshening some ingredients for basic spells, but – no, nothing that would make me do such a thing,” he shuddered. “For the past couple of hours I was just waiting for you to come home. I was worried about you.”

“But could someone have - ”

“Let’s find out.” There was a very odd tone in Bob’s voice.

Bob walked into the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. Caught by surprise, Harry followed as quickly as he could. He gasped as Bob drew a knife across his left inner forearm and blood began to well up out of a sizeable cut.

“Dammit, Bob, what the hell - ” Harry reached out quickly, relieved to find that he was able to take the knife out of Bob’s hand without protest. Ignoring him, Bob turned up the gas flame on the stove and held his arm over the burner until blood dripped into the flames. Nothing out of the ordinary happened; the flames didn’t change color or intensity, and the blood just flowed. Bob looked up.

“No. No spell,” he informed Harry numbly.

“There are other ways of finding that out,” Harry hissed. He was beginning to realize that something was seriously wrong with Bob. He wrapped a towel around the arm and steered him back to the couch. He sat with his fingers pressed tightly against the wound for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before he let go, praying he wouldn’t see fresh bleeding.

“Don’t move a muscle until I come back, all right?” Harry told him. Bob looked up at him and nodded, lost in a fog. Could he have had a seizure? Harry wanted to think there was a good, logical reason for all of this. His bad day had turned into a nightmare.

He went into the bathroom and came back with bandages and tape. He quickly disinfected the cut, which only oozed now. He wrapped the arm as tightly as he dared without risking cutting off circulation and taped it securely. Bob remained silent and biddable, his behavior the total opposite of a scant half hour before.

“You tell me if it starts to bleed again. Promise me!” Harry spoke firmly.

“Yes, Harry.”

Somehow, Harry didn’t have a great deal of confidence in the flat response. He had a flash on Bob, in whatever state this was that he was in, opening it up again and letting himself bleed to death. He shuddered, and hoped it wasn’t prophetic.

“I need to take a shower and clean up. Will you sit here and wait for me?”

Harry’s heart was pounding with anxiety. He’d been all ready to lay into Bob, to really let him have it for whatever crap was behind his nasty little sneak attack-cum-rape, but this very strange behavior had thrown him for a loop. He didn’t think Bob was faking anything, and whatever was going on, it was scaring him as much as it was upsetting Bob. He hurt like hell, but he was more worried about Bob than anything else.

Bob looked up at him again, and his eyes filled.

“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, taking in Harry’s appearance again. “Did I do that? Your face, and your arms? I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“No, no Bob, you didn’t do all this, it happened this afternoon,” Harry assured him. “It’s why I was late. I couldn’t let you know. I’m sorry,” Harry told him.

“Late. Yes, you were late. And I was angry. I was so angry with you. But why did I - ? My God, Harry.” His voice quavered.

“Bob. I really need to get in the shower. Please just sit here until I’m out. Please,” Harry asked again softly. “It’s something you can do for me.” He felt about at the end of his rope as far as patience, but he was afraid that anything he might say or do could really spook Bob. “I’m going to leave the door open, so don’t go doing anything crazy.”

“Yes,” Bob agreed, slumping back on the couch, looking every bit his 600-plus years, “you go on, and don’t worry about me.”

Not worry about him? SHIT! Nevertheless, Harry went into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. First things first, and he couldn’t function until this was done. He turned the water on as hard and as hot as he could stand. It stung his battered body, but it also caused a surge of adrenaline. He would have much preferred endorphins right now, but he needed energy to get through the next few hours, and his reserves were just about gone. The application of soap made him grit his teeth and want to scream, but he scrubbed diligently. The pain helped him focus.

Something had taken control of Bob to the point where he’d pretty much lost it, and didn’t remember what he’d done or why he’d done it. This was so unlike the Bob he knew. Sex with Bob was always lovemaking, even when he was fucking him into the floor. But then, he had only known the flesh-and-blood Bob for a few months. Was that sadistic bully Bob too? Was there a ‘real Bob’, or was there two of them? Had this been Hrothbert? Harry’s head hurt.

What if every nasty thing about Bob that had been hinted at by the Council had all been true? What if he hadn’t changed at all, and all he’d said and done since then had been just a smokescreen?

Harry considered this as he dried himself, realizing that the towel, streaked with blood, was now going to be fit only for washing the dog, if they had a dog. Justin had warned him about Bob; Morgan and Mai had warned him. Bob himself had warned him. If it was all true, every bit of it, then it meant that he loved something evil at its heart.

No. It meant that he loved a man who had once been considered the epitome of evil, yes – but Harry could not – would not – believe that the man hadn’t changed. He thought back across the years to when he first came to the Morningway estate, when he was still a very innocent kid. There were so many times Bob could have dealt with him in a nasty way, getting him in trouble with Justin, and countless times he could have been mean just because he felt like it…if he’d felt like it. But he hadn’t behaved that way, not even once. And has Harry grew older, Bob had tried hard to keep him away from the Black. He hadn’t just given his protestations as lip service, Harry knew he’d meant them. That was the one thing he’d always been very strict with Harry about.

Gingerly, Harry applied antiseptic and Band-Aids where he could reach, and hoped things would be okay where he couldn’t. He swallowed some aspirin and codeine and prayed it would take the edge off the giant throbbing pain that was his body right now.

When Bob had told him about why he’d been cursed, Harry had the feeling that in hindsight he’d regretted what he’d done. He’d changed, and Harry knew that even Morgan had begun to see it, although he wouldn’t want to admit it. No, he wouldn’t believe that Bob was damned because his motivations and desires were still the same as they had been when he’d been cursed.

Yet something tugged at the corner of Harry’s brain. All people aren’t wizards, but all wizards are people. He was a wizard, but he was Harry, and he wasn’t like Bob who wasn’t like Morgan, etc. He’d been forgetting about the human aspect of the puzzle. Being a wizard wasn’t all there was to Bob…and Bob wasn’t all there was to Bob either. He’d only been Bob for a small fraction of his life. For many centuries, he’d been Hrothbert, and Harry knew less about Hrothbert’s life than he did about Morgan’s. Maybe he’d jumped the gun when he assumed that this had to do with magic and sorcery; maybe it had to do with just being human…again. Perhaps it was time to try and get to know Hrothbert.

“Harry?”

Bob stood in the doorway, looking very subdued but slightly more himself. He held out shorts and a clean t-shirt.

“Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.” Harry tried to make his smile reassuring, but found the smile itself difficult. He put the clothes on, ran a comb through his wet hair, and went back into the living room.

Sitting on the coffee table was some warmed up lasagna and a cold beer.

“You must be starving,” Bob offered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks. Are you having anything?” Harry asked, sitting on the couch and taking a long swig of beer.

“I couldn’t…”

“Bob – come here. Sit,” Harry ordered quietly, indicating the other end of the couch.

“I - ”

“I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you, and I’m not afraid to have you near me. Now that that’s settled, will you sit down?” Harry told him, gesturing. Bob sat as if the cushion was covered in eggshells.

“And quit thinking about doing some kind of penance for my sake. I don’t need or want you to beat yourself up over this,” Harry assured him between bites, fairly wolfing the food down. “I’m just worried about you. I love you,” he added, reminding himself as well as Bob. He couldn’t allow himself to stop and think about what Bob had tried to do, the fact that he would have raped him if he could; that it was what he’d intended to do. It hurt too much to think of that person as Bob. It couldn’t be Bob; if it was, his whole world was being turned upside down.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Bob murmured.

“Huh. Worry about you, or love you, or both? Way too late for that – I’m hooked,” Harry returned, reaching out to put a hand over Bob’s.

“I’m not lovable, Harry. I never have been,” Bob sighed.

“Bullshit. What’s past can honestly be past. You have to believe that, Bob,” Harry told him firmly.

“I’d like to believe it, but after what I did how can you - ”

“I think you and I have to convince Hrothbert that history doesn’t have to repeat itself. What do you think?” Harry asked, watching Bob’s face. A look of extreme pain came over the wise, kind features he knew so well. Harry held his own breath as he saw that Bob literally stopped breathing for a very long moment, before speaking again.

“I don’t know if it’s possible,” Bob admitted, “and I don’t intend to try, because the stakes are entirely too high to risk failure.”

"Of all the things I’ve heard it said about Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I’ve never heard he was afraid of anything,” Harry reminded him.

“That’s precisely what he wanted people to think,” Bob whispered, his gaze far away, but clear. “He was quite successful – but at what cost?” He looked at Harry then. “If he causes me to lose you, I will bury him, and myself, forever, no matter what it takes.” His voice, and the hand beneath Harry’s, were shaking. Harry held on tight.

“Don’t! We’ll get through this, together,” Harry told him. “No running away to save me from you. No more burying your head in the sand. We have to tackle this head-on; talk about it, puzzle it out, and take care of it. Deal with it. No more secrets, Bob. I have to get to know Hrothbert. You see that, don’t you?” Harry coaxed.

“No! Harry, if you knew - ! I can’t. I can’t!” Bob groaned, turning away. He would have fled, but Harry wouldn’t let go of him.

“It couldn’t be any worse than all the rumors I’ve already heard,” Harry returned. When Bob turned back to him, there was real fear in the sea green eyes.

“They don’t know the half of it. The Council only think they know, but they don’t. No one knows. You couldn’t conceive of what ‘worse’ might be, Harry. Don’t force me to tell you,” he begged.

An icy knot had formed in Harry’s stomach. What if Bob was right? If he knew all that Bob had done, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stomach Hrothbert’s deeds. Maybe he would stop loving him. It might be better to leave this alone. But if they did, neither of them could be sure of the other again, and instead of the tentative foothold Hrothbert was attempting to gain, he might return with a vengeance and destroy both of them.

Life, Harry had learned in his relatively few years, was what you made it. You adapted. You learned your lessons and you moved on, profiting from your mistakes. You didn’t let life make you. If that was a lesson Hrothbert hadn’t quite learned yet, he was going to do his damndest to make sure Bob knew it.

“I won’t force you to tell me anything, Bob,” he reassured softly. “No good would come of that. I just hope you’ll come to trust me enough to tell me, and that you’ll be sure enough of my love that you won’t be afraid, when the time comes.”

“What have I done to deserve you, Harry?” Bob wondered, reaching out to touch his cheek.

“Been yourself,” Harry responded. “Your honest, gentle, kind, affectionate, lovable self. Hrothbert as he was born, not as he was forced to live,” he guessed. His heart twisted when he saw Bob’s head bow briefly in pained acknowledgement before he buried his face against Harry’s neck. He hugged Bob against him, stroking the white hair.

“It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” Harry soothed.

_Truly, you cannot imagine the atrocities I have committed in my misguided attempt to maintain control over my life. I often think that what my father said about me was true; I have been nothing but a cruel joke on my family and myself since the wretched day I was born. How can you possibly understand me? I do not understand myself. That monster is me, however much I wish to leave him behind._

_I have known since early childhood that the world belongs only to the strong, to those who dominate and terrorize, those who inspire fear and loathing. I had no choice but to suffocate young Robin; if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have survived past childhood. Only one person ever understood Robin, but they all understood and feared Hrothbert. Now I am ‘Bob’, but who is he? I don’t know! Hrothbert knows too much, and is too strong, to go quietly. Eventually, he’ll tell Harry what he wants to know. I’ll try to stop him, but I won’t be able to, because no part of me can deny Harry anything. I fear I’m too old to emerge victorious - too weak, as always. My only hope is Harry, who is young enough and strong enough to conquer anything._

When they went up to bed, Harry had to insist that he still wanted Bob in bed with him. The more Bob tried to distance himself physically, the easier it would be to drift away emotionally as well, and Harry knew exactly where that road would lead. He would have to keep a firm emotional leash on Bob until this was all sorted out, or he could wake up one morning and find him gone, literally, and that didn’t bear thinking about.

Most of what he’d said to Bob had been taking shots in the dark, and when he realized they had hit home, Harry knew he’d have to do some careful thinking about where to go next. He wanted Bob to talk to him, but it had to be voluntary and it should make Bob feel more at ease with him, not less. The Gods knew, he was neither the perfect psychoanalyst nor the perfect lover, but he had no choice.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as much angst in this part but more comfort, and Harry learns something new about himself as well as about Bob.

  
Life did not return to normal, even though both men shared a dream-like wish that it could. They talked, they ate and worked together, and of course slept in the same bed, but the Event and its aftermath weighed heavily on them. Harry vowed to give things a rest for at least a couple of days before he tried to talk to Bob about it again. He didn’t want Bob to feel coerced or pressured, but each day that passed saw the man he loved fall deeper and deeper into melancholy silence, accompanied by clumsy ‘accidents’ which reminded Harry of the incident with the knife. He started to wonder if not saying anything was having a worse effect than some gentle probing might.

Each day he came home to find that Bob was out, Harry felt slightly sick to his stomach until he returned. He began to understand a little about how Bob had felt, waiting for him that night. It was not a good feeling. And yes, it made him angry sometimes; angrier than he should have been, he would realize later.

A largely quiet, solemn Bob who mostly spoke only when spoken to, minus the twinkle in the eye and the sharp retort, was certainly depressing to Harry, but the most painful change of all was in the bedroom. He held Bob willingly, and he seemed to lap up affection like a cat licks cream. Bob would hold him, but he had to ask, almost beg. Bob accepted his kisses gratefully, but offered few of his own, nor any other advances. Harry realized that Bob was punishing himself, but he didn’t think Bob understood that Harry was feeling just as punished.

After a few nights like this, Harry ordered in some pizza and they ate in silence. Harry made sure that Bob had consumed plenty of pizza and wine before he spoke; if he hadn’t, Bob wouldn’t eat. He’d already lost weight; Harry could see it in his face.

“You were angry with me for being late and not calling you,” Harry began out of the blue, “and you wanted to punish me.” Instead of putting his glass down, Bob poured more, nursing it for a moment before downing half the glass in one go.

“Yes,” he admitted warily.

“Why were you so angry? And why punish me that way?” Harry asked quietly.

“I…don’t know,” Bob sighed, finding the contents of his glass fascinating.

Harry took a deep breath. “Talk to me, Hrothbert. Make me understand. I want to understand.”

Bob looked up at him sharply, scowling. He didn’t say anything for a while, just drank more wine. Finally, he too took a deep breath.

“All I have ever loved has been taken from me because I haven’t been strong enough to hold onto it. You must be stronger than everyone else in order to keep what is yours. If you want something, you must be ready to fight to the death for it – and to scare it into never disobeying you,” Hrothbert explained. “To disobey is to fall victim to so many dangers. You must keep your loved ones close so you can protect them from harm. You must always know where they are, and not allow them to stray. When they are older, or bolder, sometimes you must hurt them to keep them safe,” he sighed regretfully.

“So – I belong to you, do I?” Harry’s voice was low, and there was no note of censure in the question.

“While I still have a breath in my body you are mine, and I must ensure you come to no harm,” Hrothbert answered.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t really take issue with most of that,” Harry told him. “I kind of like the idea of being owned by you, actually, and the fighting for me, and all that. I even appreciate the fucking me into submission part. But inflicting pain to make me do what you want? That’s got to go. There are times it just doesn’t work,” he explained. “Children, mates and animals have to obey you because they love you, not because you’ll hurt them if they don’t. It doesn’t really work in the long run, you know? Not if you want them to keep on loving you. Did it work for you?” Harry asked softly, knowing the answer.

“No - because I’m weak. In the end, I couldn’t be cruel enough,” Bob sighed.

“It takes more strength to be kind than to be cruel.”

“So you say,” Hrothbert sniffed. “But that is not the general perception.”

“It wasn’t the general perception when you were alive, and it’s not the general perception now, sadly, but it’s the truth. And I think you’re a man who values the truth.”

“I have no values.”

“So you say,” Harry shot back at him. “But we both know differently. That’s what’s caused all this, you know – the face you’ve needed to show the world for so many years, fighting the heart of you, the person you were born to be. It’s not going to be an easy battle, but at least promise me you’ll think about the possibilities,” Harry coaxed.

Bob reached for the wine again, and drank deeply.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I only wanted you to pay attention,” he sighed, “to understand and respect my fear. I’m afraid for you, every time you leave here without me.”

“When you took me that way, I neither understood nor respected your reasons,” Harry admitted. “But I understand now, believe me. I’ve spent some anxious days worrying about you, and I realize I should have respected your fear first of all, even if I needed you to explain it to me later, because you deserve that respect – but so do I,” he explained.

“In your time, I’m guessing people didn’t talk much about emotions. In our time, we can talk about problems. We can work things out. We can admit to our fears and help each other deal with them, and that’s not weakness, it’s strength,” Harry told him.

“What is your worst fear?” he asked softly. “You can tell me. I won’t laugh at you, and I won’t think you’re weak for telling me,” he promised. “But tell me, so I can try to put it to rest.” Harry moved close, laying his head in Bob’s lap. “Don’t abandon me.”

Bob emitted a harsh bark of what was supposed to be laughter.

“Abandon you, when that is my greatest fear? That I will lose you somehow – that you will be killed, taken from me prematurely; that you will die before me. Or that you will stop loving me, and leave me alone.” The voice was purely Hrothbert’s, savage, wounded, and full of pain. “You are every breath I take, every sunrise I see. You are every good thing that has ever blessed me. You are the only reason I wished to live again. You, Harry. Only you.”

Harry tried to imagine what he didn’t yet know - what the terrible pain of Hrothbert’s past must have been to have tortured him into becoming this hardened sorcerer lord. He shuddered. Hearing those words from the very much in control, often supercilious Bob, was one thing; hearing them as a primal scream from Hrothbert was something else entirely. It rocked Harry’s soul. It reassured him that regardless of future revelations he would never stop loving Bob, and would fight to the death to save him from himself.

“You know you’re the only thing that kept me sane after…after Justin murdered my father,” Harry murmured, burrowing against Bob.

“You were forced to act as unwilling tutor to a shy, troubled kid who was nothing to you – who for all you knew was going to turn out like a clone of Justin Morningway. You took a scared, lonely boy and gave me all I needed – discipline, affection, knowledge, and a sense of right and wrong you swear you don’t posses, but I know better. You did all of this because you’d realized that Hrothbert didn’t have all the answers any more. You gave me yourself – the self that’s always been there,” Harry assured him.

“And as much as you say I mean to you, don’t doubt that the feeling’s completely mutual. If I ever lost you, for any reason…I would go to hell and back for you, literally, if that’s what it takes. Leave you? Hah. You couldn’t escape me if you tried,” Harry vowed.

“As for the other - I can’t promise you that I won’t be killed – that’s something that the two of us will just have to work on together, okay? Some things are not in our hands, and that’s just the way it is. Both of us have to work on accepting that, I think,” he sighed.

“I do not…accept well,” Hrothbert admitted.

“I’m not very good at it myself,” Harry sighed again. “It takes practice.”

Deep down – very deep – Hrothbert and Bob were the same person. If he’d thought about it at all, Harry had assumed that the former had simply become the latter, the way people’s personalities changed with life experience and increased knowledge. Now he was beginning to see that this wasn’t quite the answer. Especially in times of stress, scratch Bob and there was Hrothbert, the man he’d physically existed as just before he was cursed. The man he’d been forced to become to survive in his world. Maybe sometimes, Bob was more who people needed him to be than who he actually was. Yet Harry sensed that that wasn’t the whole picture, either. He hoped that one day, Bob would or Hrothbert would give him all the pieces to the puzzle.

It seemed oddly natural to Harry that he could see and hear both Bob and Hrothbert. He didn’t question it, nor did he question that when he called Hrothbert out he came, boldly. Contrary to what Bob had said, it seemed that Hrothbert longed to tell his story, and to be understood. It just took the right approach and the right situation…and a lot of luck, he supposed. It didn’t occur to Harry that he alone was the catalyst.

As the warring aspects of Bob’s psyche appeared and disappeared, his face changed a little, but his voice and body language changed a lot. Bob usually had control of himself; Hrothbert, though he strove for it, did not. Clearly, Hrothbert was making a play for dominance, and that had to be at the least muted…but perhaps not entirely discouraged. Harry found that Hrothbert was having an effect on him that he hadn’t anticipated.

He sat up, blindsided by several emotions. One, however, was uppermost in more ways than one. Hrothbert turned him on. He wasn’t sure how Bob would react, but he had a pretty good idea that Hrothbert wouldn’t mind. He took Bob’s face in his hands and kissed him, sucking hungrily at the sexy, full bottom lip. Bob recoiled for a split second, in surprise and confusion – but only for a second – before Hrothbert returned the kiss, hard and demanding. They gnawed and sucked at each other, noisy and wet, until Harry was gasping for air and tingling with lust.

“Naked,” he panted, ripping off his shirt, standing to peel off the rest of his clothes.

“Harry?” his would-be lover gasped in surprise, yet allowed Harry to take off his sweater, shivering as Harry’s nails clawed down his chest and over his nipples.

Harry undid the button on his jeans, pulling them down just far enough so his tongue could tease through pale soft belly hair.

“Need you,” Harry begged, “so bad. Need you to touch me. Need you to want me. Please. Please,” he pleaded. “I’m not afraid,” he added, trying to convince himself. He needed, and wanted, sex with the man he loved. A part of him was definitely in the mood for the dominating, rough and tumble Hrothbert and he was surely playing to that, but a niggling fear still remained from the other night. Rough sex wasn’t the same as rape to Harry or to Bob, but Hrothbert was still an unknown entity, and Harry wasn’t ready to take any bets on his behavior. Yet he felt a driving need to physically connect with Bob, right now. He wanted it so much that he was willing to risk what might happen.

“I need to feel you touching me, stroking me. Teasing me,” he coaxed.

Bob stood up, stepping out of his jeans. He calmly moved the table out of the way and pointed to the sheepskin rug. “Suck me.”

Shaking inside, Harry knelt on the rug and took Hrothbert into his mouth. No gentility here; he got down to serious business, working at not gagging, taking in all of his lover and then retreating to licking and tonguing when his throat muscles threatened to rebel. He reached up once to touch low, heavy testicles, but he was swatted away like a fly. _Do what you’re_ _told_. Message received, and accepted. Harry’s cock hardened at the rebuff.

This was playing with fire, and he was flying right up into the dragon’s face.

“Down.”

Dripping with sweat, Harry gratefully lay back on the rug.

“Close your eyes.”

Hrothbert’s hands explored him, everywhere. They were Bob’s hands, but…not. They’d had frenzied sex before, and sex on the rough side, down and dirty, but Bob hadn’t touched him exactly like this. There was a power here, a command mentality, that Bob had not let him see. He was Hrothbert’s plaything, his sex toy. Harry was shocked at how much the realization turned him on. Each nerve-ending in his body was screaming out for that touch, and Hrothbert was obliging him in full measure. He moaned and gasped loudly with pleasure at the sexual electricity that was generated by his lover’s touch.

His nipples were pinched and pulled, painfully; his chest hair was tugged and twisted until it felt like it was going to be ripped out. He opened his eyes to protest, and was met with an icy green gaze and a meaningful slap to the side of his head.

Trembling with pain and sexual tension, Harry closed his eyes. A hand closed around his cock, pulling roughly. He gasped at the unexpected touch, waiting for more pain, but was surprised that rather than feeling pain exactly, it was more like walking the fence between discomfort and intense pleasure. The hand that manipulated him was very clever, not quite taking him too far one way or the other, keeping him on that raw pleasure edge for eons. Harry totally lost track of time, or even the desire to think about time or anything else.

“Thank you, my lord,” he heard himself whisper, and it didn’t occur to him to find either the words or the sentiment out of place. Utterly in the moment, he floated in a different world.

“I am pleasing you?” The low rumble of Hrothbert’s voice was hypnotic.

“Yesss.” Harry tossed his head. “Very much.”

“You do well, but you must learn to do exactly as you are told. You will feel pain when I wish it, and pleasure when I wish it. You will come only when I allow it. Understood?”

The deep, firm voice rendered him supremely relaxed now, eager to submit. He had no desire to question the feeling, and no fear. He had no wish to be anywhere but here, now, with this man’s hands on his body.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Please, may I pleasure you, my lord?”

“No. For now, I will have you. In all ways.”

Harry shivered at the promise in the words. His lover sank to the floor beside him.  
As shocking as the first touches had been, this was more unsettling because he was so off-balance. He had no idea what was coming next.

Exquisite gentleness. Delicate fingertips, and eventually, lips, soothing all the flesh that had been angered before. A warm tongue circled his nipples slowly, followed by the sauna of a wet mouth sucking and licking for many minutes, until he reached for himself in desperation. A hand stopped him.

“You must not.” The voice was quite firm, but no longer harsh. “It is my body, to do with as I will, is it not?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “I’m sorry, lord. I’ll try harder. But you make me so hot,” he admitted, “it’s hard to wait.” To his surprise, warm lips touched his, tongue meeting his briefly and surprisingly gently.

“Your reply, and your reason, cannot displease me, but you must learn, all the same.”  
Hrothbert began again, moving slowly down his body. Eyes closed, unable to see anything, Harry felt in an entirely new way. It was such a different kind of pleasure; a pleasure that fucked with his mind in ways he wouldn’t have thought he’d allow, and couldn’t have imagined letting anyone do to him. It was a pleasure that was doubled because he was pleasing his lover in that same, mind-fucked way, and it was all so perfectly okay. Not to mention hot.

He groaned aloud when the blistering mouth closed over his cock, and clenched his fists to keep from touching anything. Gods, so perfect! Lips milking his cock and warm palms milking his balls just enough to bring him to that insane, wonderful precipice and then backing away to prolong the torture that really wasn’t. Screwing with his head again and making him want to be screwed with, exactly like this, over and over again.

He was very close now. Without warning, Harry felt a thick digit slip inside him. He froze, his heart pounding. Please don’t let me mess this up. He tensed. He willed himself not to, but it didn’t work. It was all he could do not to open his eyes so he could see what was in Hrothbert’s gaze.

A hand brushed the sweat from his forehead and cool lips touched there, soothing.

“Shhhh,” a voice that was neither Hrothbert’s nor Bob’s whispered in his ear. The digit moved, soothing in its familiar way. It neither invaded nor retreated, but tantalized gently until Harry’s body welcomed it. Once he let go and gave his lord control it was gone, and he almost regretted that; almost, but not quite.

“You’ve come very far tonight, my love. I have never doubted your bravery, but you surpass yourself. It is I who must measure up to your courage.”

The mouth was on him again, and it took less time that he would have thought. After all he’d borne, it was more like Hrothbert ultimately coaxed his climax from him than demanded it. His commander sucked him lovingly, swallowing all of him with a gentleness that disarmed him further, and then stroked his head and shoulders, bestowing light kisses.

When he could think again, he was very aware of the extremely hard cock pressed against his stomach.

“My lord, may I pleasure you now? May I open my eyes?” Harry asked quietly.

“You have already given me great pleasure tonight.” Hrothbert’s voice, no longer so firm. “But I will take yet more pleasure of you while I can. No, do not open your eyes. You need do nothing, but you need not fear to touch me if you wish,” was the enigmatic reply.

Harry felt the long, lean body stretch over him, and begin to rub and thrust against him. Now understanding, he pulled Hrothbert down against him, welcoming him, inciting and soothing him with his own body, stroking his back and buttocks, thrusting up to meet him as he rutted hungrily in that method of release most common in Hrothbert’s time. A muffled groan, and fire splashed against his belly, trickling into his groin.

Harry longed to hold his lover close and reassure him, but he instinctively knew he couldn’t. Bob wouldn’t have agreed to do this, it was Hrothbert he was dealing with, and he couldn’t just dismiss him or turn him into Bob because he wanted to. Hrothbert must feel that he was regarded with respect – which he certainly was. Harry shivered again, thinking about what he’d just experienced. He lay quietly, offering only soft kisses, which were accepted.

“Are you well?” the deep voice asked after some time.

“Yes, lord,” Harry responded truthfully, “well indeed. And more than content to do as you bid me, when you bid me.” To his surprise, his lover rolled off him, looking intently into his eyes.

“Do you play with me? Humor me? How should I believe you? This has not been your way,” Hrothbert reminded him. “It is dangerous to betray me.”

Harry sat up, grasping Hrothbert’s taut forearms, returning the gaze with equal intensity.

“I understand your doubt, lord. No, this has not been my way – but now that you have shown it to me, I…I would experience it again…with you. I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, though I may yet fail. But I do wish to be with you…this way, again,” he answered firmly, not looking away.

“The weakling Bob speaks truly. You are a treasure beyond price.” Hrothbert leaned forward and kissed him with a quiet passion that rendered him boneless. Harry sang with feelings he couldn’t have described if his life depended on it. He dared to stroke his lover’s back, moving down to caress his buttocks.

“Let me pleasure you now,” he begged.

“Another time.” The deep voice chuckled softly. “I am well spent, and at peace.”

“I’m glad. Will you then allow me, lord, to take you to a place of comfort?” Harry asked, thinking a soft bed and a good night’s sleep was something they both needed.

“Show me the way, sweet Harry.” He tilted his head, dropping a kiss on Harry’s shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part’s PG rated. Heavy emotional angst as Harry begins to learn Bob’s story.

It took Harry a few seconds, when he woke the next morning, to remember why he felt so good. Why he felt like he’d had sex. Whoa. He had indeed had sex – great sex. With Hrothbert. He might wish it had been with Bob, but lately, he was happy to take what was offered, and by whom. Life had gotten entirely too complicated.

He’d taken a pretty big risk last night. He hadn’t really known what would happen. He might have gotten hurt, and his relationship with Bob might have been shattered, if things had gone wrong. But instead of going wrong, they had just gone in a very different direction than he’d anticipated.

Harry opened his eyes and put out a hand. No Bob. His heart thumped in his chest, until he realized he could smell coffee. Okay.

What was Bob thinking this morning? Wishing it hadn’t happened? Embarrassed at what had transpired, and how? Feeling angry, and tricked? No use postponing the inevitable. Harry rose, put on his pajama bottoms, and went downstairs.

The egg carton and the bacon sat beside the stove, the skillet unused. Bob sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee. He didn’t look up when Harry came in.

“Good morning,” Harry ventured.

“Is it?”

“Are you angry with me?” Harry asked bluntly. Bob looked up at him in confusion.

“Am I angry with - no, Harry,” he sighed, “I’m not angry with you.”

When Harry went with his feelings about Bob, he would often wonder how he knew what he felt he knew. He had a vague idea about that, but the hypothesis wasn’t ready to be examined too closely yet. Still – in for a penny…

He moved behind Bob’s chair, leaned down and hugged him, laying his cheek against the mussed white hair. How warm he felt, and how Harry had missed that warmth.  After a moment he let go and sat opposite Bob, grasping his hand.

“Look at me,” he asked quietly, giving the hand a squeeze for emphasis. Reluctantly, Bob’s eyes met his, waiting.

“I’m not angry with you – not at all. I was not horrified or turned to stone by Hrothbert,” Harry told him. I wanted it to happen. I could have stopped it any time – but I didn’t want to. I enjoyed it. I want it to happen again,” he confessed. “I love you. Every part of you.”

“But you’ve never - how can you say you love…him? You don’t know him! You only see of him what I let you see,” Bob returned hopelessly.

“No, I haven’t – but there’s a first time for everything. It was good. You were good,” Harry smiled. “And I might see more than you do, about this…about him, right now. You’re being too hard on yourself,” he sighed. “Way too hard.”

“You don’t know…”

“Then tell me.”

“I…can’t.”

Harry sighed deeply, biting down on his disappointment. Damn, the man was stubborn!  
  


                                                                       ***

Harry made it a point to touch Bob often. Sometimes it was sexual and sometimes it wasn’t, but he felt that the touch itself was important. He couldn’t put a finger on why, he just sensed it. His feeling was vindicated when Bob began to respond. Their sex life, though still far from what it had been, improved. At least, they were having sex again, and Bob would sometimes initiate things, although pointedly, not as Hrothbert – and for now, Harry wasn’t asking for a repeat performance.

Bob smiled a little more, talked to him more, but Harry often had the feeling that it was only for his benefit. It was as if he was only trying to hide his depression. As weeks passed and little really changed, the black cloud began to weigh on Harry as well.

Murphy asked him about it, but he made up some story about an unsuccessful job that had gotten to him. He loved and trusted Murph, but this was something he wasn’t going to tell her. Not about him and Bob - he figured a blind man or woman would see that and he assumed she’d known for a long time. But he strongly felt that Bob’s past and how it was affecting the two of them was something that should not be shared with her. It had to be something she was not part of in his life, both for Bob’s sake and her own. He knew that at times, Bob was jealous of his relationship with Murphy, and vice versa. And he doubted that the liberated Murph would appreciate Hrothbert’s more regressive outlook on life, anyway.

Harry continued to worry that one night when he came home Bob would be gone for good. He hadn’t said it wouldn’t happen, after all. He wondered which of them feared abandonment most, and whether Bob had a clue as to his fears; he suspected not.

At least now that they were having sex again, he knew that Bob wasn’t seriously injuring himself ala the knife incident, but there were a lot more bruises than there had been before, and the odd small cut or abrasion. Bob chalked it up to his just being ‘clumsy’, and not paying attention to what he was doing, but Harry didn’t see it that way. He didn’t always pay that much attention, but when he did notice, he saw that Bob wasn’t eating much. He’d told Bob he wouldn’t force him to talk about his past, but he was feeling pretty helpless.

Bob clearly felt threatened when asked about Hrothbert. Harry hoped he might not feel quite as resistant if he was asked about his pre-sorcerer lord life. As before, not knowing where it would lead, Harry waited until after he and Bob had eaten and were comfortable on the couch. After about a half hour of watching TV, Harry picked up the remote and hit the Mute button. Bob looked at him warily.

“Come here,” Harry asked, motioning for Bob to scoot closer to him. “Please?” With a look on his face that spoke volumes about what he feared was coming next, Bob reluctantly complied. Harry put an arm around him and hugged him gently, guiding his head to Harry’s shoulder.

“You know we need to talk again, don’t you?”

“Harry, I know you mean well, but I cannot - ”

“This isn’t just about me wanting to know, it’s about you getting it out, telling someone. It’s about you needing someone besides yourself to know,” Harry told him, stroking his neck and shoulder softly. “There’s a sickness in you, poisoning you, and Us. If you can’t do it for yourself right now, then do it for me. I need it,” Harry admitted, “because I need Us again, the way we used to be. I don’t know how much more I can just sit by and let you destroy yourself.”

“Turn me loose, Harry. Cut your losses.” The words were quiet, but Harry felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“We’ve been over that territory before. The answer is no. Never,” Harry returned. Unconsciously, his grip tightened. Bob struggled a little until Harry let go, but he didn’t move away.

“What…do you want to know?” he asked, finally.

“Whatever you want to tell me. What was young Hrothbert like? What was your family like, your home – or was it a castle?” Harry asked calmly. “How did you grow up?”

“Accidentally.” Bob’s acid retort was unexpected. Ouch. Remembering his own childhood, Harry could certainly relate to the pain it could cause. Bob’s must run deep.

“Tell me?” Harry asked.

Bob gave a great sigh. He sat up for a moment, and then, surprisingly, settled his head in Harry’s lap, facing away from him and curling his body on the couch as if to make himself smaller. He shivered a little. Harry took the afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over him. He petted Bob softly, fingers lightly caressing his ear and neck, and waited.

“I expect it wasn’t intended that I should live very long after birth, but I disgusted them all by surviving,” Bob began. “I was the youngest of eleven children of Godfroi of Bainbridge, the last of eight children born to my mother Alys – who died giving birth to me. I would have sworn to you that my father never loved anyone, but if he had it must have been my mother, because from the first moment I had memory, I knew I was blamed for her death and hated for it, before I could be despised for any other reason - although sufficient other reasons soon presented themselves, apparently.”

“Even my name was considered a joke. It was long out of fashion, even for the old-fashioned, but my mother had taken it into her head to name her child, if it was a son, for a long-dead ancestor, a renowned scholar of his time. I think if she had lived, my father would have persuaded her, in the dark way he possessed, to choose another name. As it was, the name became just another of my many punishments for being alive,” Bob sighed.

“The late 14th century was a dark time, Harry, brutish and violent. The politics of the land were vicious, and solutions to any sort of dispute or disagreement were swift and nearly always fatal,” Bob told him. “Richard II became king in the year of my birth. I grew to manhood in a time of chaos, when ‘every man for himself’ was a fact of life.”

Such a long time – literally hundreds of years. Of course, Harry had always known Bob’s age, but until now, it hadn’t seemed real to him. This was a time he had trouble imagining…didn’t want to imagine, when it came to Bob’s suffering.

“The only way to survive was to be strong. Weakness was Death. The way to become strong was to fight…and fight again and again, until you were the strongest, and few would challenge you. I,” Bob revealed, “was neither ‘strong’ in the only sense that was understood then, nor brutish, nor aggressive by nature. I was quiet and studious, and I hated learning fighting skills. Therefore, I was useless to my father and fit only for the company of women. A mere object for my older brothers and half-brothers and the manor’s men-at-arms to bully and t-torment.” He was silent for a time. Harry said nothing, only continued to softly stroke him, hoping that he would go on, yet aware of how painful it was.

“I had no friends of my own age; it was beyond my hopes to imagine such a thing. I was lucky to make it through a single day without being kicked, punched, tripped, slapped, having my hair pulled, or being beaten with a thick rod. I often cried myself to sleep at night – further proof that I was some sort of changeling in the household,” Bob whispered. “The only tenderness I had was from a young nursemaid called Emma, who cared for me until I was perhaps four or five. She was gentle and kind, and always quick to bind my wounds or just to hold me when I gave in to tears. I was her ‘wee Robin’. Of course, once my father observed this kindness, the girl was simply gone. I never knew what became of her. From that time I was fed, though rather poorly, and I was clothed, but that was all.

Harry heard much in Bob’s quiet recital – anguish at being born motherless and unwanted, at being discarded. He’d been reviled without cause and powerless to defend himself. He ached for the kind, loving man who had been everything to him that Bob himself had never had, and who had determined early on that Justin would not ruin Harry’s life the way that Godfroi had brutally tossed his aside.

“The Bainbridges had gotten where they were by cunning and by being very good at seeing which way the wind was going to blow before it did – and also by being well armed and protected, so their threats again villeins and villagers alike, even the local clergy, were heeded. Any protest was ruthlessly put down. So ruthlessly that as a child I despaired of ever being able to do the things my father, uncles and brothers did. I often thought, especially after a particularly bad, usually senseless beating, about jumping into the river, with no desire to come out again,” Bob sighed.

“I’m not surprised, love,” Harry murmured, smoothing his hair. “It would have been a hard life for a man, but for a small boy it must have been hell.”

“I’ve been to Hell, and you know something? It wasn’t as bad as that. At least in Hell, I had a chance of standing up for myself…defending myself.” Harry thought he heard tears in Bob’s voice. He squeezed his shoulder.

“When I was a little older, perhaps nine or ten, I was foisted off on the village cleric for basic schooling. He was considered a senile old goat, but I suspect he was scarcely more than a decade older than I am now. Most villeins were dead before the age of 40, and even in the upper classes it wasn’t common for men to live past sixty. I remember praying for my father’s death,” Bob whispered. “I told Father Ranald that once. Bless him – since he could see the bruises on my body, he demanded no penance of me, and only told me it was wrong to ask God for such a thing. I seem to remember him saying something about God meting out justice in his own way.

“Father Ranald was my father’s greatest mistake, where I was concerned.” Harry heard satisfaction in Bob’s voice. “He was a learned man – far more learned than anyone in my family – and observant. He knew the sort of existence I had. He found in me a sponge for all the learning he could give me. I was quick and clever, and he saw, I think, an opportunity to give me a few weapons with which to defend myself as I grew older. The Bainbridge cunning I had in abundance; it would be my downfall after all – but Ranald taught me to keep my wits about me, and to out-think my opponents.

“He taught me to read, and I quickly went through his small library. Occasionally he would have something new. I think he bought books for me out of what must have been a very small stipend. He was a kind man. I don’t think he ever raised a hand to me, or said a harsh word. I suppose he knew I had enough of both at home. I loved him. He was the only stable thing I knew; the only person I could count on not to betray me in some way.” Bob’s voice caught again, but though it was clearly full of tears, he went on, as if he couldn’t stop.

“His death was the end of my childhood.” Bitterness invaded the sorrow. “My father could not read. When he learned that his despised youngest son, ‘the weakling’, as I was called at home, could not only read but was, for the times and for a twelve year old child, quite well read, he was furious. He managed to trump up some ridiculous charge of heresy in the devout old man, and he was executed. My father forced me to watch him being suffocated for witchcraft, of all things,” Bob rasped. “His only crime had been that he was kind to me.

“If I hated and feared my father before, after that I wished him dead with every particle of my being. I could no longer escape to the village, because the villagers blamed Ranald’s death on me…as they should have. But I was a Bainbridge and hated for that as well.

“I nearly went mad, those next few years. It was, truly, a hellish existence – and compounded by the realization, at about the same time, that my first sexual yearnings were not for fair ladies, but for the men-at-arms serving my father’s house. I’ve often wondered what Ranald would have thought of that. I don’t want to think he would have condemned me,” Bob sighed, fidgeting.

Beneath the afghan, Harry slowly stroked his back under the sweatshirt, soothing.

“I don’t think he would have,” he assured Bob. “Did you know…how I felt about you, after I’d been at Justin’s a few years?” he asked.

“Oh yes.” Harry could hear memories in the soft voice. “You reminded me so much of myself at that age. I wanted to help you find yourself, to keep you safe from Justin’s mind-bending ways…”

“You did.  You did all of that, and more,” Harry told him. “And you survived your father, too.”

Silence again, for a couple of minutes. Harry held his breath, wondering if this was all he would hear for the night. Then -

“I really do think it was Fate that just when I had reached the age when my father would no longer be forced by custom to keep me under his roof, and my physical longings, which scared the hell out of me, were becoming unbearable, Master Bartholomew entered my world,” Bob revealed.

“I first saw him at the old Roman fort. I used to escape the house sometimes and just go and sit in the ruins, imagining what it would have been like in Roman times. I’d seldom seen anyone else there before. He was about the same age as my father, perhaps slightly older. I hadn’t seen him before, so I knew he didn’t come from the village. I thought he was…well, not ugly, and fairly well dressed, much as a well-to-do villager or townsman might be. Other than that, I didn’t know what to make of him.  
“He asked me what I knew about the ruins, which was little, and then told me what he knew of them, which was much more. He admitted to a knowledge of the sciences. I sensed the teacher in him, as I’d felt it in Ranald. Heaven knew what he saw in me, but he arranged to meet me at the fort when I could get away, several times a week.  Often, he brought food for me, seeming to sense that I did not eat well,” Bob sighed.

“While I didn’t trust him as I’d trusted Ranald – I never came to do that, but that was perhaps because I was older and less trusting generally – I enjoyed talking to him, and because of that, he learned quite a bit about me that I didn’t realize I was revealing. I suppose he must have been trying to decide if I’d make a good apprentice,” he acknowledged.

“One day it was very cold, and after an hour’s time we were both freezing. I made to go, but he stayed me with a word. He built a small fire ring between some blocks of stone where we had been sitting. I was puzzled to see him place several large rocks in the center of the thing. There was no wood about, and I found his behavior very odd. Everyone knew that stones didn’t burn. But with a snap of his fingers and a few muttered words, they did. We soon had a fire to warm us…a fire of burning stones.

“He asked me if I knew what a sorcerer, was, a wizard. I said that I’d heard of such things, but had no knowledge of them myself…until now. He laughed at that; my answer pleased him. He admitted that he was indeed a wizard, and asked me if I had any questions for him. I asked him if it was true that wizards could control the elements, and could bring about events. Yes, he answered me to both. Would I like to be able to do such things? Thinking of my family, and Ranald, I told him yes, I would. He must have been able to read my thoughts, because he told me that there were two kinds of wizards and two kinds of magic, white and black, and that he would never be or use the latter. He probably knew,” Bob sighed, “what was to come, at least part of it. But he needed an apprentice regardless and he was willing to risk me.

”He asked me if I wanted to go with him, away from Bainbridge, and learn his magic. I didn’t think twice about it. Yes, I told him, very much. He told me to come back to the fort in two nights’ time, with any belongings I wanted to bring with me, and we would be off. I’m sure he realized it was highly unlikely that my father would come after the son he’d wanted dead since birth.

“I was so excited,” Bob related, “that I ran all the way home. For the first time in my life, I was glad to get there, because I was soon to leave it for good. I had few articles of clothing to gather together and even fewer possessions, and no one I cared to say goodbye to. On a cold late autumn night, just after moonrise, I left my childhood home – I thought forever, but Fate had other plans. Still, I was not to see it again for years. It had been a long time since I’d been so glad of anything, the night I set out for my new home with Master Bartholomew.”

Unexpectedly, Bob sighed, stretched a little, and sat up. His eyes were red, but dry. He searched Harry’s face intently, finding nothing but sympathy and sorrow - and love. Yes, well…this had been the easy telling, difficult though it had been to bring the pain back. Up to now, he’d been a helpless child, a victim. Anything he admitted to from now on would be another story altogether.

Pulled tight into Harry’s embrace and held firmly, he concentrated on the purely sensory pleasures he’d been so long denied. The comfort and safety of strong arms surrounding him and the hardness of a male body against his. The rough softness of the sweater against his cheek, smelling so strongly of Harry. Most of all, the living, breathing love and tenderness that enveloped him – breath, heartbeat, pulse. The lips pressed to his temple, murmuring soft words of comfort. If only he never had to move…never had to reveal anything more.

He started to speak, but hesitated. It must be said before he lost his courage – or while the weakness was still upon him, depending upon how you looked at it.

“Bob?”

“Harry – no matter how much I try to push you away from me – don’t let me succeed. Please – don’t stop…touching me,” he whispered, so softly that Harry could barely hear him.

“No chance,” Harry assured him, hugging tighter, resting his head against Bob’s. “I know this must hurt like hell, and I’m sorry. But thank you for telling me,” he breathed, “and never forget how much I love you. How much I’ll always love you, whatever you tell me.”

_Ah, if that could only be true._

They stayed that way for long, contented minutes, drinking each other in, but eventually Bob broke the embrace. However, he didn’t get up and end his tale as Harry expected, but only settled himself across Harry’s lap, head on the couch cushions, torso across Harry’s thighs. Harry sighed in relief, pleased that Bob wanted the comfort and closeness – and that he still wanted to talk. He knew that each revelation was being dragged from deep within, and was increasingly painful because it brought him still closer to the person Bob didn’t want him to know about.

“His home was in Richmond, a good twenty miles from Bainbridge. In those days, most people didn’t travel more than ten miles from their place of birth in a lifetime, so I considered it a foreign land. It was certainly a town and not a village, and it even had a cathedral. Market days were an experience for me, I can tell you,” Bob chuckled. “As eager as I was to learn, for a while that desire warred with my budding satisfaction with life and the new wonders I was experiencing.

“Fortunately, Master Bartholomew was fairly indulgent. He bought me decent clothes and saw that I had enough pocket money to buy myself occasional trinkets and treats. He let me settle in and settle down a bit before our lessons began,” he remembered fondly. “He seemed to understand that coltish time between childhood and manhood, which came very quickly in those days, and not begrudge my high spirits and flights of fancy.”

“Not long after we arrived in Richmond, I realized he’d chosen me not just to be his apprentice, but to share his bed. It hadn’t been so very many years before that Edward II had suffered a ghastly death for being not only arrogant and foolish, but a lover of men besides. Certainly, Master Bartholomew was aware of the desirability of having satisfaction in the privacy of his own household. He must have sensed a likeness in me during our meetings at the fort, or felt I would be pliant enough when the time came.

“Because he treated me well, and also because I was by this age positively brimming with little understood and poorly controlled desire, I didn’t think to protest; indeed, I was luckier than most in the way I was introduced to sex. Though primarily mindful of his own pleasure and not always patient, my master was not cruel or unfeeling, and often remarkably kind in his way. I had no reason to complain about any aspect of my life then,” Bob remembered, reaching up to cup Harry’s jaw, his smile reaching his eyes this time. Smiling back, Harry’s hand slid up beneath Bob’s sweatshirt, stroking his abdomen and chest softly. Bob’s eyes closed in pleasure.

“Eventually, our lessons began. He set me to reading several basic books and parchments. I had an excellent memory, which served me well when I began to apply my book learning.”

Bob paused and looked up at him wistfully.

“You have something I do not possess, Harry. I never used to understand what it was, or why it was so desirable, so special. It’s only as the years have passed, and I came into the possession of Morningways, that I understood the difference between us.”

“What are you talking about, Bob? You’re one of the greatest sorcerers who ever lived,” Harry assured him.

“Sorcery, Harry, and magic, are not precisely the same thing,” Bob sighed.

“What do you mean?” Harry puzzled.

“A true wizard not only does magic, he is magic. It’s not simply something he learns; it comes from within. It is something he is born possessing. He may need to learn to control it, and to channel it, but it is still there, whether he controls it or not,” Bob explained. “You, Harry, are a true wizard, as are all Morningways, and others like you.

“I, on the other hand, am indeed a sorcerer, and a magician – but I am not magic. I can create magic; I can weave spells and curses. I can read the work of others before me, and I can use my own intelligence to modify and improve upon their magic - but it is a sad, mechanical sort of magic when compared to yours, sweet Harry,” Bob explained wistfully. “Any magic I may create is the result of work and study, while it escapes you with every breath you exhale. It oozes from your pores.” Bob smiled, softly stroking the thick hair of Harry’s forearm. “Your natural, untamed abilities take my breath away sometimes.”

“Bob, no, that can’t be true! You know so much. You know more about magic than I ever will,” Harry protested.

“Knowledge and ability are not the same thing,” Bob reminded him again. “I would rather have half of my knowledge, and a tenth of your natural abilities.”

  
“But you have all the answers! And since you’ve come back, I’ve seen you do - ”

“Much like your father, I’ve become quite good at the show – at giving the appearance of having more power than I actually possess. It’s been the only thing that has given me the illusion of power, all these centuries. An illusion I needed in order to survive,” Bob finished softly.

Harry thought that even if Bob didn’t realize it, this was probably the most difficult thing for him to admit so far. Even if it wasn’t true – and Harry was positive that it wasn’t true, he knew it with the sixth sense Morningways had – Bob believed it was true, and it was something he was secretly ashamed of.

“Then it was very clever of you, and it definitely worked,” Harry told him. “It still works. Nobody has a clue,” Harry assured him. “As for me, I don’t give a damn,” he growled. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a wizard, a sorcerer, a fraud or the pizza delivery guy, Bob – it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“I love you, too, my wise Harry.” Bob moved to settle into Harry’s shoulder, one arm across his chest.

“I learned from my master, and I grew. I learned the ways of towns, and of the Church and the aristocracy, and quite a bit about politics. I spoke Latin and French as well as what was slowly becoming the English language you understand today, and I could read well in Latin, and passably in Greek. I was inducted into the intricacies of alchemy as well as herbalism. I was taught to defend myself.

“To outward appearances, Master Bartholomew was a merchant who dealt with other merchants in Venice and Milan, importing cloth and scarce luxury goods from the continent. There were still people in the towns and villages who hesitated to deal with such merchants because of their memories of the Black Death and how it spread, but the rich still wanted their spoils, so there was a living to be made.” Bob sighed when Harry’s lips brushed over his forehead. “His true work was known only to a few others of our kind.

“I would occasionally hear news of Bainbridge, and the hell my father and my brothers were making of the manor and the village. I longed to be able to go back and wreak vengeance on them all. At first I bought Black manuscripts in secret, keeping them hidden from my master, but as the years passed I lost my physical fear of him, and I was more careless about my purchases and my search for knowledge…and my lovers,” Bob smirked in remembrance.

“I’m sure he felt hard done by, in that I was not repaying him as he would have wished, but he must have understood it was likely to happen so. In any case, there was little he could do about it. By the time I was two score and odd years my knowledge and skill equaled his, and my knowledge of the Black more than frightened him. We bore no animosity towards one another and more than a little affection. It was time we parted company, yet neither of us knew how to effect this.

“Fate stepped in,” Bob told Harry with an unpleasant smile, “with a series of blows to the Lords of Bainbridge. For Ranald’s sake, I was overjoyed. My father and my oldest brother were struck down by a fever. My next brother, afraid that my uncle would claim the estate, had him murdered. In the course of two short years, all the heirs to the title and lands perished through illness or misadventure, until I was the only Bainbridge left,” Bob shook his head, remembering.

“They – the village, those of my family still alive, and the nobles to which my father owed allegiance – were shocked that I was alive to haunt them, and even more that the scrawny, quiet boy they remembered would have the bollocks to come back and claim the estate.

“Yet claim it I did. I actually traveled to court to press my suit with King Henry. Bold as brass I was, they said. Well, he was only just king, and he was having enough trouble keeping the nobles quiet then that I think he appreciated the idea of at least one loyal house in the area, and one which might supply him with some revenue at that. I had brought a reasonable amount of gold with me – one of my first, and ultimately most harmless, uses of the Black, with the promise of more when the manor became profitable again. So, unbelievably,” Bob sighed, “Bainbridge was mine.”

Harry thought about the changes he had seen and heard in Bob tonight. The helpless, pained, and bitter voice of young Robin, coming from a Bob who wanted only to make himself invisible. The cheerful, cocky voice of young Hrothbert, facing Harry and the world for the first time. And now the birth of Hrothbert in his prime, fueled by revenge, full of cunning and the need for power. Yet while his voice was bold and verging on the boastful, he still lay in Harry’s arms.

As the two of them dealt with Hrothbert’s future deeds, all those things he didn’t want Harry to know and feared abandonment for, they would need to remember, and cling to, what they wanted now. Though he didn’t want Bob to stop, Harry knew this might be their last time for a while. He also knew he needed the comfort. Bob had acknowledged Hrothbert tonight, but the memories of Robin were raw in him. Harry was in no hurry for Hrothbert to become Robin’s crutch. That would come soon enough, and he wanted a rest before he tackled Bob’s bogeyman.

But the time for thinking was over for tonight.

“Come upstairs with me.” Harry didn’t phrase it as a question. He tipped Bob’s head up, kissing him hard.

"Yes." Bob nodded when Harry let him go. "Please."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, Harry knows just what sort of comfort Bob needs. Then he gets the scare of his life when he blows it badly and needs to ask for help from unexpected quarters.

  
“Come upstairs with me.” Harry didn’t phrase it as a question. He tipped Bob’s head up, kissing him hard.

"Yes." Bob nodded when Harry let him go. "Please."

Wordlessly, they ascended the stairs. Harry stripped himself in record time, but indicated to Bob that he would do the honors. He undressed his lover slowly, gently, item by item. His caresses of the no longer robust frame were tender and unhurried. They were accompanied by frequent kisses, some of which were soft and lazy and some sharp and almost frenzied as emotion flooded through him and spilled onto Bob.

Bob’s pale eyes closed as each wave of pleasure washed over him. The comforting warmth of Harry’s hands, intimate and so understanding in their gentleness, made him groan aloud in wonder at how well Harry knew him.

“Harry. I’m afraid,” he admitted softly.

“I know - but it’ll be all right,” Harry soothed, knowing the admission had nothing to do with what was happening now.

“Harry - ”

“Shhhh, love. Shhhh,” Harry murmured, kissing an ear. He turned Bob onto his stomach, a pillow beneath him, and reached for the lube in the nightstand. He applied it liberally to his cock and then slowly to Bob’s entrance.

“If I belong to you, then do you belong to me,” Harry whispered in Bob’s ear, slipping unnoticed into Hrothbert’s ancient speech pattern, “and I claim you now.” Without further ado, he sheathed himself fully within his lover.

Bob gasped sharply at the breach, but once he was over the surprise, his whole body relaxed.

“Oh Harry, yes,” he moaned.

Leaning low over Bob’s back, Harry’s possession was not kind; it could not be, for in this claiming it wasn’t what Bob needed and Harry knew it. His thrusts were deep and entire, not just for Bob’s sake but for his own. They were punctuated by Bob’s soft gasps of need.

He was close enough that his chest would sometimes touch Bob’s back; his arms straddled Bob’s waist where he could feel them. Bob was surrounded. He was protected. And he was most certainly being well fucked.

Harry had no doubt that Bob wanted exactly what he was getting. He shuddered visibly, the muscles in his back rippling. The noises issuing from his throat might be unintelligible but they were clearly sounds of satisfaction.

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay.”

Harry let himself go, thrusting like a wild creature, faster and faster, caught in a whirlwind made of equal parts love and lust. Bob’s gasps had become loud, harsh grunts of satisfaction – but when Harry’s efforts accelerated yet again he lapsed into silence, letting Harry’s body take his where it would go. When Harry came he leaned in close to Bob again, stroking and kissing him, their sweat mingling.

Once Harry pulled out, he rolled Bob towards him, taking him in his mouth; he was barely halfway there. Bob let him go on for a minute or two, then put a hand on his head.

“Harry. It’s all right. Stop,” Bob murmured.

“Just a little longer and you’ll - ”

“No. It isn’t going to happen,” Bob told him, “but it’s not important. It doesn’t matter. You know I got what I needed tonight.” He smiled softly. “It was more than enough. It was beautiful, sweet Harry,” he sighed with contentment. “But I’m so very tired.”

“As long as you’re okay,” Harry whispered, brushing his lips against Bob’s damp temple.

“’okay’?”, Bob gave a strangled, hiccoughing laugh. “There is no word…there are no words, to describe what you’ve given me,” Bob told him, his speech slurring with weariness. He held an arm up to Harry, but fell asleep before it connected.

With a lump in his throat, Harry straightened Bob’s limbs, pulled the covers up, and curled himself around them all…Robin, Hrothbert and Bob, like an alpha guarding his pack. If Bob was afraid, what was he? Terrified. Instinct or even a sixth sense might not be enough now, and if he screwed up…. Was he too arrogant, thinking he knew what was in Bob’s heart?

_It’s been so long since I’ve had the sleep that comes only in the arms of a lover. Yet truly, since the other was but a gentle boy in man’s raiment, what I feel tonight is undiscovered. He surrounds me, my Harry, holding tight, protecting me. He will always be at my back, he says, ‘no matter what’. I want to believe him; I almost can believe him. His strength and tenderness comfort me much. But will he want to comfort the monster I became? I cannot bear to think about it tonight. Tonight, I will feel his warmth as our bodies lie entwined, his sleeping sex hot against my flesh. His breath warm on my neck, I will sleep again in peace._

Harry dreamed a strange, unsettling dream. Bob was there…or rather, Hrothbert, looking every inch the commanding lord, dressed in silks and velvets, wearing rings set with large precious stones. He seemed angry – except when the young man was with him. He was younger than Harry by some years and shorter by a couple of inches; handsome, with dark red brown hair, pale skin and striking blue eyes and a gentle, kissable mouth. Harry knew that Hrothbert had kissed that mouth many times, and he burned with jealousy at the knowledge.

There was a woman too. Between the young man and Harry in age, she was pretty in a sharp, precise sort of way, with a strong mouth and too-wise eyes, and shared the young man’s coloring. Yet she did not seem fond of him. Rather, she was full of mocking laughter aimed at both the young man and Hrothbert. He was coldly dismissive of her, his gaze flat and angry; his eyes only smiled when he looked at the young man. There was a jumble of visions – Hrothbert and the young man riding, and then fucking, and lying in front of a fire drinking wine. The woman screaming in uncontrolled rage, shouting something – and then screaming again, not from rage but from pain.

Harry woke in a cold sweat. He didn’t understand what he’d seen, but he knew it had to be at the heart of what Bob didn’t want him to know. He’d been so involved in what Bob had related earlier and so loathe to interrupt him that he hadn’t stopped to think about Winifride – the ‘love of Bob’s life.’ How could that be, if what he’d said tonight was true. Was the woman he’d seen Winifride? Who was the young man?

As soundly as Bob slept in his arms, Harry found himself sleepless.

 

                                                                 ***

 

It was only now that Harry made his first mistake. They’d come so far, and Bob had revealed so much that Harry wanted to get it over with, to have it all out in the open so both their lives could get back to normal. He thought Bob must be ready to spill it all, and he thought he was ready for that too.

A few days later, while they were working in the lab, Harry began, he hoped casually, with “So, tell me about Winifride, your Great Love.”

Bob straightened and turned to Harry. Hrothbert could indeed be a scary dude. He seemed to have grown a couple of inches in height. There was no warmth in him. None. Oh yeah, Harry could believe everything he’d said about having to be hard and cruel, and there being no room for anything else, looking at that face.

“It is not your affair. You will not ask me again.” And a lesser man would not have.

“Not my affair? That’s a load of crap.” Harry shook his head. “Anything that affects you affects me…and Us. You need to tell me so we can get on with our lives. Tell me about her – and about…him,” Harry challenged wildly.

If Bob could have breathed fire, he would have then. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised. His pale eyes became ice.

“How dare you - ”

“I’m not afraid of you, Hrothbert. You can’t intimidate me,” Harry warned him, bluffing. “And I will find out. You’ll tell me eventually, because you want to. Deny it all you want, but you know it’s true,” Harry told him. In his anger and frustration, he forgot to be careful or kind. He was shaking when he left the lab.

They didn’t speak of their confrontation after that. When Harry was able to think more rationally later he kicked himself. Bob, or Hrothbert, was pushing him away, trying to distance himself again. Don’t let me do that Harry, Bob had begged him. Crap. But Bob was right about one thing – Hrothbert was very good at his game.

If Harry tried to touch him, hug or hold him, Bob shrugged him off. Harry paid no attention. He continued as before, and ultimately Hrothbert gave up trying to hold him at bay, at least physically, and allowed Bob the comfort of Harry’s caresses.

Harry continued to dream about the young man, and the woman he called Winifride, so certain was he of her identity. But there hadn’t been anything in the legends about a young man. A comely, gentle young man who clearly owned Hrothbert’s heart, or as much of a heart as he’d possessed then. Harry’s jealousy of this phantom increased. Was Bob even now so in love with this memory that he was more loyal to it than to Harry? Other than his single barb during their argument, Harry didn’t mention the dreams to Bob. They disturbed and confused him too badly, and he didn’t want to find out that he was right, that Bob did love this wraith more than he loved him.

He was so wrapped up in his own worries that for once, he wasn’t paying close attention to Bob, until he was awakened with a crash. Literally.

Harry was upstairs, just finishing getting dressed. He could hear the sounds of Bob rummaging around in the kitchen, a pot here, the slam of the refrigerator door there. Just as he finished lacing his shoes, he heard a muffled ‘thump’, and the sharp clang of a metal pan hitting the floor.

“Bob?” No answer. “Bob, answer me!” Silence.

Harry took the stairs two at a time. Bob lay on the kitchen floor, out cold. Harry knelt and shook him gently, calling his name over and over, but there was no response. With shaking fingers Harry felt for a pulse and found it, weak and erratic. He sprang for the phone and called 911.

All the way to the hospital in the ambulance, he cursed himself for not noticing what he was sure he should have noticed that would have prevented this. Dammit, this was his fault. As much as Hrothbert was positive he was responsible for everything in his domain, Harry felt just as responsible for the wounded Bob/Hrothbert in pain. He’d obviously fucked up badly in challenging Hrothbert, though at the time he didn’t know what else he could have done. He saw it now, though – he’d pretty much breached Bob’s last defense, and not in a good way.

After some garbled conversation between the paramedics and the hospital and Bob getting some IVs, he began to come around a little. His eyes flickered open, and he was fighting the paramedics, although he was still not fully conscious. Harry was gut-wrenchingly relieved that he’d opened his eyes at all, and that he was still breathing. He wanted to take Bob’s hand, but he couldn’t get close enough.

Bob was wheeled directly into one of the treatment rooms, and Harry was stopped at the door. He’d known this was coming; he’d been in enough emergency rooms himself and had gone with enough injured friends to know that this was the drill, but it still frustrated the hell out of him. All he could do now was sit and wait until someone came to fill him in – and that might take hours.

Harry sat in the waiting room, oblivious to the TV and people’s comings and goings. He was pulled out of himself once, when a doctor emerged and gave a waiting relative what was obviously the worst news they could receive. He winced in sympathy at wailed protestations and tears, and wondered if that was going to be him in an hour or two.

He couldn’t talk to Bob; he didn’t even know if he was conscious. But he had to try something, he was going to go crazy if he didn’t, wondering if he’d ever be able to talk to him again. He forced himself to relax, taking deep breaths. He shut down even further than before, closing his eyes. Bob had told him more than once that he was at least somewhat telepathic. Harry hoped he was right.

_Bob, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I drove you to this. I didn’t mean to, it’s just - I love you so much that it really hurts to see what you’re going through. I wish you could trust me enough to tell me the rest of it, but if you don’t, I’ll understand, and that’s okay. I’ll be there, whatever happens. Just please, don’t shut me out. Let me try and help you. I love you...as much as he did. Please, let me prove that to you. Don’t leave me._

“Mr. Dresden?” A middle-aged nurse in scrubs touched his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Harry shook himself, literally and figuratively. “How is he? Is he - ”

“Mr. Bainbridge is all right, but we’re going to admit him overnight for observation. Can you come with me now? The doctor would like to speak with you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied, so eager to hear more that he stumbled, he got up so fast. The nurse smiled, taking him by the elbow.

“Careful, we wouldn’t want both of you needing to be admitted,” she admonished gently. Harry focused only on ‘Mr. Bainbridge is all right’, and not much else as he followed the nurse through the door into the treatment area. She led him to a small office, told him Dr. Kelley would be with him shortly, and left.

It was okay. He could wait for the doctor to show up, because Bob was okay. Some of those people out there, the people they cared about weren’t okay. Weren’t ever going to be okay again. Harry shivered.

Just when he was starting to get antsy, the door opened and a harried-looking doctor about Bob’s age...well, his physical age...came in, running his fingers through his gray hair. He was consulting the chart he carried, running through with some recent data.

“Mr. Dresden, I’m Dr. Kelley. Your friend will recover with treatment, but I want to find out what brought this on, if you don’t mind a few questions.”

“Of course. Brought – what on, exactly? Nobody’s told me anything, except that he’s okay. What’s wrong with him? Why did he pass out like that?” Harry asked. The doctor sat opposite him.

“Judging by his blood work and his electrolytes, he hasn’t eaten in days. His chemistry is all out of whack. His body has basically gone into starvation mode. Electrolytes are tricky things, Mr. Dresden, even for the young and healthy. If his potassium had gotten any lower, his heart could have stopped,” the doctor told him.

“Damn,” Harry groaned. He’d gotten so used to Bob not eating much the past few weeks, he hadn’t seen that it had become serious.

“He...he’s been going through a rough time emotionally the past couple of months. Something’s bothering him. Something big, to him. He’s been preoccupied, not taking care of himself in general. I’ve tried to make sure he eats, but I’m not always home,” Harry explained.

“He’s also covered with scrapes and bruises. What can you tell me about that?” the doctor asked pointedly. Harry sighed.

“It’s not me, if that’s what you’re thinking, doc,” he responded, looking Dr. Kelley in the eye. “He chalks it up to clumsiness. I think he’s trying to hurt himself.”

“I think you’re right, Mr. Dresden. You know, these are classic symptoms of a serious depression.”

“I know. I’ve tried to talk to him...tried to draw him out, and it worked, for a while. I thought he was getting better, but...things came to a head about a week ago. We had an argument,” Harry admitted. “I guess after that he just stopped eating. I should have seen it coming.” He scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

“Don’t blame yourself too much. People who are depressed can become pretty good at hiding it from those around them,” the doctor told him. “But something has to be done. Do you think Mr. Bainbridge would agree to see a psychologist? I’d like to start him on some antidepressant medication, and do a followup in a couple of weeks.”

“Bob’s not much for either of those things, doc. If you can get him to go for it, I’m right there with you, but I just don’t see it. I wish he would. I’ve tried everything I can think of - ” Harry’s voice broke. “I don’t know what else to do. It’s really scaring me,” he admitted.

“Sometimes, there are things we can’t handle on our own, Mr. Dresden, no matter how badly we want to. Is there someone else you could talk to about this? Someone whose advice you, or Mr. Bainbridge, respect?” the doctor asked.

“Maybe. I’ll have to think about that one,” Harry acknowledged, knowing he wouldn’t have to think that hard, but not eager to address the issue. “Is he awake? Can I see him?”

“He’s having a few more tests, and then he’ll be admitted for a day or two. I want his sodium and potassium levels up and his kidney function improved before I’m comfortable sending him home – and I want to see him eating. Why don’t you go and have lunch, and come back in a couple of hours. He’ll be up on the Floor by then, and you can sit with him. “He’s as anxious to see you, by the way, as you are to see him,” Dr. Kelley assured him with a smile, rising. He clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

Right, like the first thing on his mind right now would be food. The thought of eating made him nauseated. All he wanted to do was see Bob, and tell him how sorry he was. Take him home, and fix it all. Except that apparently he couldn’t fix this, no matter how much he wanted to. On his own, he’d struck out. Reluctantly, Harry thought more seriously about the doctor’s suggestion – someone whose advice you respect. Bob would be furious, but there wasn’t anyone else.

Before Harry left the ER, he asked where the nearest pay phone was. He hoped there’d be no answer – it was the middle of the day, after all – but the phone picked up on the third ring.

They drove to the apartment in silence. The trip was ostensibly so Harry could pick up his car, but they both knew it was so Harry was on home ground when they talked. To give him credit, his companion was giving him plenty of space, and was being neither pushy nor demanding. Well, he had picked him up at the hospital, knew Bob was admitted, and Harry probably looked like hell, so it wouldn’t take a brain surgeon to know that something bad was up.

Harry made coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table. Warming himself over the cup, gathering his courage and his thoughts, Harry sighed.

“Thanks for agreeing to listen, Morgan.”

The wizard nodded his head.

“We’ve – I’ve been trying to handle this on my own, and my attempts at taking care of things have landed Bob in the hospital. The doctor suggested a...third party. I need some advice, I guess,” Harry began awkwardly. “Guess? Shit.” He shook his head. “At this point, I just don’t know what to do.” Well, he had one idea, but it seemed both crazy and potentially as dangerous as it gets. He desperately needed Morgan’s feedback on the situation.

“What seems to be the problem? Is it...the two of you?” Morgan asked delicately. Some months back, he had ended up at the apartment needing help, which Dresden had compassionately provided. He’d seen that Harry and Bainbridge had a physical relationship, and also what had seemed to a casual observer to be a strong emotional attachment. If anything had changed between them, it would be the most likely cause of Bainbridge’s illness. But if that were the problem, Dresden would hardly have needed to speak to him about it.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “Not exactly. Only peripherally.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more forthcoming, Dresden,” Morgan sighed, realizing this could take all day if the exhausted wizard spent more time dancing around what was wrong than getting to the heart of the matter.

Dresden looked over at him, and the pain behind his eyes made Morgan wince.

“This isn’t easy for me Morgan. You and I, and Bob, we haven’t exactly been on the same team for very long. And Bob would kill me if he knew we were having this conversation. So, for starters – can you force yourself to call me Harry instead of Dresden?” he asked quietly.

Morgan could count on one hand the number of people who had ever trusted him enough to ask for personal help.

“All right...Harry. Tell me...enough so that I’ll have an informed opinion, and my advice will be worth something,” Morgan returned neutrally. Harry stared at him a moment, then nodded.

“From the time I was eleven and Justin Morningway, may he rot in hell, brought me to Chicago, I have only known him as the entity – the man – I call ‘Bob’. What he’s been to me – he’s been the only one besides my father who has ever given a damn about me. The only person I’ve loved besides my dad. And I’ve been the only person who’s cared about him...loved him...since he was...cursed and killed,” Harry revealed, swallowing hard.

“I swear on my father’s soul, Morgan, he’s never, ever tried to get me to use the Black, or allowed me to use it. He wanted me to understand it, so I could protect myself against it, but he always cautioned me against it. Always,” Harry stressed, looking straight at Morgan. “What happened to Justin was an accident, although I don’t think it would have happened if I hadn’t been so angry, and so vulnerable. Haven’t you ever done anything stupidly wrong when you were young, in the heat of anger?” he asked. “Bob did everything he could to prevent it, and he was horrified. I know, I know, you’ve heard this all before,” Harry shrugged his shoulders, “I just keep hoping that maybe someday, somebody will believe it.”

“I believe you,” Morgan found himself saying, and meant it. He no longer had doubts about that, at least. “And yes, I have.”

Harry studied his face and found only quiet truth. Those were two pretty amazing admissions, coming from him.

“Thanks, Morgan. That means a lot to me...on both counts.” Harry gave him a small, fleeting smile.

“Something...happened, and Bob got very angry with me. He did something that the Bob I know wouldn’t do, and he had no memory of it. He literally didn’t remember doing it. He started to come unglued right after that. I guessed that Hrothbert, the evil sorcerer, was sort of haunting him, and he’s as much as admitted to me that I’m right. He keeps saying he can’t bear to tell me all he’s done, that I would walk away and never look back if I knew. He says not even the Council knows the real story.” Morgan looked up sharply at this.

“It’s eating him up inside, Morgan. It’s killing him, the idea of telling me about his past. No matter how many times I reassure him that it won’t matter, that I won’t leave him, he can’t believe it. He’s become self-abusive, and now he’s trying to starve himself to death,” Harry choked. “I just don’t know what to do any more.”

“Has he told you anything at all?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah, he has. And it gets harder and harder for him. I think he’s told me all he thinks he can, before the really heavy stuff. That’s when he stopped eating.”

Morgan thought for a moment.

“He doesn’t want to tell you, fights against telling you, but ultimately, he does tell you,” he mused.

“Yeah, except now that we’ve arrived at the Big Bad,” Harry sighed, “and it’s tied up with a lot of memories of the last time he was alive.”

“He’s ashamed of what he’s done. He regrets it,” Morgan continued.

“Yeah, Morgan – I just said all that,” Harry fretted, restless.

Morgan looked at him with a flicker of annoyance – but then remembered the stakes for Harry, and for Bainbridge. “I’m thinking aloud,” he reminded Harry, who looked into his coffee cup.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“You might not think so now, but it doesn’t sound like bad news to me,” Morgan began. “Think about it – if this wasn’t happening – if he wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done, if he had no regrets – would he be the person you care for?” he asked. “He’s going through a painful process, Harry – as rough as it gets, for most men. It’s not easy to look back over your life and see all the things you wish you had done differently; the pain you caused others – and yourself.” Morgan paused, and his eyes were far away for a moment.

“He apparently has such strong regrets that he is, in a sense, willing to give up his life to avoid telling you exactly what they are. But he is going through the process all the same, hoping to be able to come out on the other side and still have you. It takes more courage to endure what’s happening to him than to merely sweep it under the rug, so to speak, and not deal with it.”

“I’ve told him that. I don’t think it helped much.” Harry bit his lip.

“Perhaps more than you’re aware. He’s kept talking to you, hasn’t he?”

“He tries.”

“He needs to make his peace...with you by his side,” Morgan told him.

“What are you suggesting?” Harry asked.

“Take him back to where his physical roots are. Give him a place to express his final regrets and make his amends, if he can. Take him to England, back to when and where he lived,” Morgan suggested. “That would seem to be your only recourse at this point.”

Harry stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, stared some more, closed it, and shook his head. Finally he smiled, a small, rueful smile.

“That’s what I came up with too, but I was afraid it was crazy,” he admitted. “And my track record hasn’t been that great lately.”

“Desperate circumstances sometimes call for desperate measures,” Morgan reminded him. “And there is nothing else you can do here, he’s shown you that.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, but what if - ”

“Life,” Morgan told him quietly, “is full of ‘what ifs’. Don’t regret that you didn’t do all you could to help him. Once you’re there, the rest will be up to him. He’ll either trust you with all of it, or he won’t, but you will have done everything in your power to help him. You can’t do more than that – but you shouldn’t do less, or it will haunt you forever.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “Thanks, Morgan. Thanks,” he repeated, putting a hand on Morgan’s arm. Only an idiot could fail to see that the warden was full of his own pain and regrets, and that he’d had to dig deep for his counsel. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“I hope you succeed,” Morgan told him. “What you and Bainbridge have is...worth fighting for. Good luck, Harry.” He stood, clearly eager to flee.

Harry, ever impulsive, couldn’t let the moment pass. He moved into Morgan’s path and hugged him gently. “For you too, someday, Morgan,” he acknowledged. “I feel it.” Unable to stop himself, Morgan strengthened the hug, and for a split second, pressed himself against Harry. But only for a second, and then he backed away. He stopped halfway to the door and looked back over his shoulder.

“You’re not going to tell me what he reveals to you, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry shook his head.

“Good, because I don’t want to know. Understood?”

“Morgan - ” Harry’s throat tightened. “Yeah, I do understand. Thanks...again,” he called softly, giving a small salute, and a nod.

“Contact me if I can help you with your arrangements in England.”

“I will.”

And Morgan was gone. The implications of their conversation were enough to make Harry dizzy for a month in ordinary times, but right now, all his energy had to be turned to Bob, getting him healthy and getting him to England.

 

                                                                           ***

 

Walking through the lobby and taking the elevator up to Bob’s room, Harry babbled to himself about what he would say to Bob. It had to be right. It had to be perfect. He walked in and approached the bed. He’d never seen Bob look so helpless, or so sad. He was thin, and very pale, and he looked awful.

Harry opened his mouth – and crashed. All the grief and fear he’d been through in the past couple of months hit him like a sledgehammer. He could feel his face twisting with emotions he couldn’t control, and he started to sob. He heard himself blubbering like a baby. Awkwardly, he buried his face against Bob’s shoulder, unable to stop.

“Harry, don’t! Don’t my love, please. I’m all right. Don’t cry for me, sweet Harry.” Bob’s voice was soft, full of pain. “Shhh, don’t,” he pleaded, stroking Harry’s hair, caressing the nape of his neck.

For a few minutes, Harry couldn’t have stopped, no matter how much he might have wanted to. The last thing on earth he’d planned to do was upset Bob, especially in his current condition. But it all came pouring out, and while it lasted, he was more helpless in his grief than Bob had been.

Harry’s breakdown, however, was all that Bob needed to tip the scales. His mind was now made up. Whatever the ending might be, he owed Harry honesty. In truth, he owed him everything, but honesty must be the first repayment. Harry’s pain was now equal to his own, and that wasn’t right.

“Harry love, please stop,” he whispered, “and give me a kiss.”

With Herculean effort, Harry pulled himself together, horrified at what he’d done. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, and grabbed a handful of Kleenex to blow his nose.

“I’m kind of a mess. Are you sure you want - ”

“Harry!” It didn’t come out like it normally would, in that always sexy, sometimes annoying baritone, but more like a breathy squeak.

Shamefaced, Harry leaned over and carefully pressed his lips to Bob’s sweaty forehead, holding his head gently.

“A little lower, sweetheart.” The humor was back in Bob’s voice. Harry groaned, and kissed him softly on the lips. Bob reached up with the arm that wasn’t tethered to the IV and hugged Harry to him as best he could. Harry kissed his lips again, then his nose, and his eyelids, before daring to step back and look him in the eye.

“I’m so, so sorry, Bob,” he apologized, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have - ”

“Yes – you should have, Harry. Don’t blame yourself for what has been my fault, all of it,” Bob told him, stroking his arm. He motioned for Harry to sit on the bed. “It was my pride as well as my fear that kept me from telling you what you have a right to know.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “maybe I don’t have that right. I took it without considering how you felt - ”

“No one has a better right than you. I’m just stubborn,” Bob smiled ruefully.

“And hurting. More than I can imagine,” Harry told him, putting his lips to the back of Bob’s free hand, holding it against his cheek.

“It’s what I deserve, after all,” Bob sighed.

“But not forever, Bob – not forever! There’s got to be an end to the pain. You deserve that, too,” Harry returned fiercely.

“You’ve begun to make a believer out of me,” Bob acknowledged quietly. “No more rows, Harry – I’ll tell you what you want to know, when...when we go home. Not in here, like this,” he sighed.

“Okay.” Harry smiled through his tears. He wasn’t going to say anything else about his plans until they were all in place.

“The doctor said he’d like you to stay in a couple more days, to make sure you’re in good shape before they discharge you. Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you think best, Harry.” Bob was clearly tired, but some of the melancholy had lifted; Harry could see that.

“I think you need the rest, too. Real rest.”

“Yes, you’re right. You’re always right about me, my Harry, even when you doubt yourself,” Bob told him. “I do trust you, I always have, and I won’t shut you out any more, I promise. You’ve already helped me more than anyone else could have, and I have repaid you by hurting you unbelievably. It’s I who should apologize to you, as I could never apologize to him.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You – heard - ”

“Yes love, I heard you. I also felt your pain, and I was ashamed of myself at last. Don’t be jealous, Harry; instead, have pity. I’ll tell you about him. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Harry smiled, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, “and you’ve always kept your promises to me.”

“I want never to disappoint you. That’s why this has been so difficult for me,” Bob admitted. “That, and the realization that I’ve lived much of my life as a fool, and a tool of evil for the commonest of desires.”

“Hey now, don’t bad-mouth yourself too much around me,” Harry smiled, “I think you’re a pretty great guy.” Bob snorted, and it was, Harry noted, almost an ‘old Bob’ snort. He was beginning to have hope again.

“Bob?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I – um – I need something from you, if you feel up to it.”

“What is it?”

“A hug. God, Bob, I need a hug.” Tears leaked into the quaver in Harry’s voice.

“You’ll never need to ask me for that again, Harry.” Bob smiled quietly, holding his arm out. They captured each other in a gentle bear hug. Harry clung as tightly as he dared, laying his head on Bob’s shoulder and letting a few tears fall. They sat like that, rocking softly, until Bob’s dinner arrived.

“I’d better let you eat. I’ll be back tomorrow,” Harry promised.

Bob’s tears came only after Harry had gone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey ‘home’, Bob & Harry get a bit of a breather angst-wise, and Harry makes a new friend.

When he got home, Harry got busy. First of all, he had to finance the trip. He didn’t know how long they’d be gone, so he decided to err on the side of extravagance. Bob deserved it. Contrary to what he let people think, Harry hadn’t been as cavalier with the Morningway Estate as it appeared. He might have hated the idea of where the money came from, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he might never be desperate enough to need it. There were certain items he’d surreptitiously sold not long after his trial – antiques and furnishings, some jewelry and miscellaneous things, to dealers in New York and London, keeping a low profile. The money had gone straight into a Swiss bank account, which he was about to tap for the first time. For a while at least, money would be no object.

Flights. Hotels. A rental car. A million details, and only a few days to arrange them all. He’d have to take Morgan up on his offer, and then some. If he cast a dampening spell around himself, he could go online for a few hours and check out the more personal details he hoped to put in play if all went well. Then there was what to pack, for both of them. It was going to be damn cold; it might even snow. Well, they could do some shopping once they got to England, if they had to.

Harry dug out his passport, which fortunately had a couple of years to go, and then stopped short. Oops. Job #1 would have to be Bob’s passport. He’d have to go down into the basement for that, though he didn’t anticipate any problems. Sometimes, he reflected with a grin, it was Good To Be The Wizard.

Lying in bed much later, he was reasonably pleased with how much he’d accomplished. He was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. He was missing Bob too much. Even when things were bad, he’d been there, physically, and his warmth had been a reassurance of sorts. Harry hadn’t slept alone in his bed since Bob had become corporeal again. With a sigh, he rolled over to Bob’s side and buried his nose in the sheets, inhaling sharply. He found what he sought, and began to relax. Only two more nights....

 

                                                                          ***

 

Loaded down with pills and instruction sheets, sticking close to Bob’s side in case he got woozy, Harry opened the door and they stepped inside. When they reached the living room, Bob spied the suitcases where Harry had left them – not quite in the middle of the room, but certainly prominent.

“Harry?”

Harry steered him to the couch and sat down. Whoo-boy. Bainbridge or Bust.

“We’re going home, Bob. Your home.”

“Bainbridge?” Bob was stunned.

“Yes, Bainbridge. Unless you don’t want to go,” Harry added.

Bob gazed at him for a moment, his mouth slightly open. Then he nodded, and reached out to grip Harry’s hand.

“Only you would do this.” Bob shook his head in disbelief, smiling briefly. “Yes, it must be – and it will be easier for me there,” he sighed. “Bless you, my Harry.”

“I plan to start fattening you up before we leave on Friday,” Harry told him, returning the squeeze of his hand, inwardly breathing a huge sigh of relief. Score one for me and Morgan.

“Pizza?” Bob smirked.

“Smartass.”

 

                                                                           ***

 

Harry had been lucky to get a flight direct from O’Hare to Manchester. He’d been to England several times, so he didn’t need to do the London thing, and neither of them needed the added delay and hassle of taking the train all the way from London to Yorkshire. He would rent a car in Manchester and they’d drive to the Dales. He’d already pored over the local maps, so he knew generally where he was going. He wondered how much the topography had changed in six hundred plus years, and whether Bob was going to find any landmarks he recognized. He hoped so.

He kissed the white head that lay heavy on his shoulder. He’d wondered how Bob would take to flying, whether he’d be nervous. He had been a bit tense, but also wide-eyed, until they’d leveled out over the Atlantic and the scene below them became one of monotonous blue. At that point the stress of the past week had overtaken him, and he now slept soundly against Harry, who was quite content to feel that beloved weight.

Please Gods, Harry prayed, let this trip help him put his demons to rest. Never mind about me or what I want, just please let him be at peace.

It was, of course, raining as they drove north from Manchester, but it wasn’t a hard rain and the day was reasonably bright otherwise. Bob’s eyes were glued to the countryside that flashed by the windows, and he was clearly lost in memory; of what, Harry would give a lot to know. It would take them just about two hours to get to Bainbridge, weather permitting. If Harry was nervous, he couldn’t even imagine how Bob might be feeling. There might not be anything there at all that he remembered. But at least he’d be breathing the same air, so to speak, as he did when he was alive.

When they were within five miles or so of the village, Harry slowed to about 20 miles an hour.  It was only misting now. Everything was so green! It was beautiful country. No wonder they’d made it a national park. Undulating hills alternating with flat fields; low stone walls guarding sheep or cattle. From the look on Bob’s face, Harry guessed he was wandering about six hundred years away.

Harry stopped the car on a rise in the road just outside the village. A tiny bridge was ahead, with dark blue water running swiftly over the rocks in the riverbed. He could see a large carpet of green in the center of the village ringed by cottages, many of them made of centuries-old weathered stone.

“Harry....I want to get out for a bit. May I?” Bob asked softly.

“You do anything you want to do. I’ll be here, waiting,” Harry reassured him.

With a grateful smile, Bob got out of the car and walked to the bridge. He stood, first looking down at the rushing water and then further up to the village. Ultimately, his gaze turned to the hill above the village, and stayed there.

Harry pulled the car to the side of the road, switched off the engine and got out. He walked up to Bob slowly, making sure his shoes crunched on the gravel. He laid a hand on Bob’s shoulder.

“Home?”

“I think so, yes. And the fort as well, farther up. So strange. It’s not the same, but...it is, in a way. Harry – even if I seem sad, and far away from you at times, it was a good thing, you bringing me here. It’s right, but it’s going to be difficult,” Bob acknowledged, a quaver in his voice.

“I know,” Harry comforted, putting an arm about his waist. “I know. Just remember, I’m here.”

“I thank the Gods for that every day I draw breath.” They stood there until it started to rain again.

Harry drove into the village slowly. It wasn’t the same village Bob remembered of course, except, perhaps, for one particular building. It would certainly look different to him, but it ought to look a little familiar as well, especially the name. When they pulled into the car park across the road Bob stared, frankly open-mouthed, at The Rose and Crown.

“It can’t be,” he croaked.

“It is. See there, above the door? ‘1445 AD’. At least some of it has to be the inn you remember,” Harry told him.

“Are we - ?”

“Staying here? Yep,” Harry grinned, giving him a quick hug as he hoisted the bags out of the boot of the car. “Come on.”

“Harry,” Bob breathed, taking that in. “You are...there aren’t words, sweet boy.” He shook his head in amazement, following Harry across the road and over the threshold.

His eyes pored over every beam, every joist, as Harry registered. He looked to Harry as if he was trying to smell the ages.

“Would you be so kind as to sign the register, Mr....well! Mr. Bainbridge, is it? Come back to look over the ancestral home?” the desk clerk asked jocularly.

“You could say that,” Bob replied evenly.

“If I remember my history rightly, there hasn’t been a manor, or a Bainbridge living here, since Henry VIII’s time. And if the tales are true, I suppose his direct descendants, if there had been any, wouldn’t have wanted to remain here.”

“Oh? Tales?” Bob asked lightly. Harry was slightly alarmed at the thinning of his lips.

“Well, you know, when history is that far removed, the legends get more and more improbable,” the clerk shrugged. “I think the story goes that the last Lord of Bainbridge was supposed to have been some sort of evil wizard, who was killed by the Church for his sins. Always seemed a bit odd to me, since the rest of the local history says he was the best Lord the village had had for a couple of generations, kind and generous, that sort of thing. Doesn’t sound like he would have been described as evil now, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Bob nodded, leaving the man with a few unexpected pound notes and a quirky half-smile. The idea that the village’s memory of the last Bainbridge wasn’t all bad seemed to cheer him immensely.

“I asked for a room in the oldest part of the building,” Harry told him as they followed the bellman down the hall. “I have no idea what it’ll be like.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Harry. How could it not be?” Bob smiled.

How could it not be fine, indeed? The Gods were being kind so far, of that Harry was convinced. The room was so old the floor and walls weren’t level – you could see the bowing in the plaster. The floor creaked fairly loudly, a fact that caused Bob to actually grin with delight. Dark, rough-hewn beams crossed the ceiling above their heads. The bed, while not fifteenth century of course, was a comfortable large four-poster, and the room’s furnishings were simple and ageless. It featured a real fireplace – one of only two rooms at the inn that still had them.

“Do you want to go down and have some lunch?” Harry asked after they had unpacked.

Bob lay on the bed looking very sleepy. “Would you mind very much if I had a nap? I don’t know why I’m so tired all the time,” he sighed.

“Because you’ve been through hell the past few weeks, and your body’s taken quite a beating along the way?” Harry smiled in understanding.

“Why don’t you go get something now, and we’ll have dinner later,” Bob suggested.

“You’ve got a date. How about a fire?” Harry asked.

“That would be...perfect.” Bob was more than half asleep already.

Harry indulgently stacked a couple of split logs and some kindling and waited until he was sure it was well started before he straightened from the hearth.

“Sweet dreams,” Harry told Bob softly, covering him with the blanket lying at the foot of the bed and leaving him with a light kiss on the mouth.

Harry had a quick pub lunch in the bar and then went to the desk to make some enquiries. After that he strolled down the high street, meandering in and out of the various shops, browsing in some, purchasing needed items in others. It was a dreary day, and he was drawn to a cozy-looking, cheerily lit shop with a small sign in the window, Mortimer’s Antiques. A beautiful brown and white Springer spaniel lay just inside the doorway. It lifted its head and chuffed softly in welcome and Harry squatted to greet the dog, whose tail thumped enthusiastically as it licked his hand.

“Well, I am impressed. She doesn’t take to people much, but she certainly likes you.”

A young woman stepped out of the shadows in the back of the shop. She was dressed casually, but artfully put together in an ageless way, giving the impression of being, if not one of the antiques, then quite comfortable among them. A mass of dark red-brown curls was pulled back rather carelessly, framing a lightly freckled face set with striking eyes the color of amber. She was definitely someone you would notice, even in a crowd. Not for her beauty, but for her spontaneous warmth. She hadn’t spoken even a dozen words, but Harry was charmed already.

“She’s a beautiful dog,” Harry smiled, continuing to fuss over the animal, which had now rolled over onto its back and was encouraging him to scratch her stomach.

“I feel sad for Emma, poor thing. She belonged to my uncle, who owned this shop. He’d only just gotten her as a pup when he was diagnosed with brain tumor. They’d just bonded when he had to go into care, and then he was gone and there she was without a master. I came up from London to take care of things, and since my life was in a bit of a squeeze anyway, I’ve stayed on here and taken over the shop for the time being. It has a lot of lovely old things, some quite unique. Poor Emma still misses her ‘dad’, most days. It’s lovely to see her happy. Thank you, Mr. - ?”

The young woman held out her hand, and Harry shook it, smiling back at her.

“Dresden. Harry Dresden. Happy to oblige. I think my friend Robert would like to meet her – and you. He’s back at the inn resting while I’m wandering around.”

“Tourists from America, are you?” she asked. “Oh, heavens, how rude of me! Here I’ve just nattered on about all sorts of personal things, which I never do, and I haven’t even introduced myself,” the young woman blushed. “I’m Tessa Mortimer. Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Dresden, and do forgive my impertinent question.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry smiled. “I guess you could say we’re tourists. Robert – Bob, is a Bainbridge, and he sort of wanted to see the ancestral village and all that.”

“Is he! Goodness, there haven’t been actual Bainbridges around here for a very long time. There used to be a manor, as you might know, but it was burnt down back in Henry VIII’s time under odd circumstances. Well, odd to us, but I guess not then,” Tessa shrugged. “The last lord of Bainbridge was supposed to have been a sorcerer, and a very bad man. The story goes that he was beheaded by order of the Church, and the manor burned. I’ve always thought it was a sad story, because who knows what the truth actually was.”

“I suspect Bob would think it was sad too,” Harry agreed. “And you’re right, the truth is sometimes a slippery thing.”

“You must bring him round, I’d like to meet him.”

“I will. Actually, I should be getting back to the inn and check up on him. He hasn’t been well, and I didn’t intend to leave him alone for so long.”

“Oh please, before you go, let me get something for you, or rather, for Mr. Bainbridge,” Tessa told him. She went to a case in the back of the shop. “It’s very old. I don’t know if the story is true, but my uncle told me that it once belonged to the sorcerer. It would be nice to think it did, wouldn’t it?” She turned and handed Harry a wooden box. It was slightly smaller than a shoebox, intricately carved with a hunting scene, and inlaid with enamels that were still surprisingly bright. She lifted the lid for him, and he could see it had been a writing case, with places for an inkpot, a seal, and quills.

“I don’t know if we can afford this,” Harry began, thinking that if it had indeed been Bob’s, he would buy it no matter what it cost.

“Oh no, please, it’s my gift,” Tessa smiled. “I think it must be a good thing to have a Bainbridge in the village again. And thank you for cheering Emma up. She’s a dear, and so are you, to be so kind.” The young woman blushed.

“I couldn’t – it must be worth a lot of money,” Harry hesitated.

“Please. I want to.” The dark amber eyes met his squarely. He nodded, and smiled.

“Let me wrap it up for you.” She went behind the counter and wrapped the box in the ubiquitous brown wrapping paper universally used for parcels in England, though she used sealing tape instead of twine to secure it. If it was possible, Harry was even more enchanted.

“Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before taking the parcel. Intent on getting the treasure back to Bob and making sure he was all right, Harry didn’t notice that Emma followed him.

Bob was awake, sitting in a chair before the fire, looking more relaxed and content than Harry had seen him in months.

“Good nap?” Harry asked, bending over to kiss the top of his head.

“Yes, very good indeed. Dreamless,” he added, by way of explanation, “and peaceful. Did you have a good ramble?” he asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Quite a cozy little spot, is Bainbridge. And I met a charming young lady, who sent you a present,” Harry told him, pulling a second chair up before the fire, close to Bob.

“Sent me a present? What have you been saying to people about me, Harry?” Bob frowned, only half joking.

“Not much,” Harry assured him. “I just wandered into this antique shop up the road – Mortimer’s, it’s called. Tessa – that’s her name, was telling me pretty much what the desk clerk did, when I mentioned your name. So she’s the second person who doesn’t necessarily believe everything she’s heard about the ‘last Lord of Bainbridge’. And she has a beautiful dog- ”

“What was the name again, Harry?” There was an intense look in Bob’s eyes.

“Tessa. Tessa Mortimer,” Harry repeated.

“Mort-e-mer,” Bob spoke softly, giving the name a French accent, with emphasis on the last syllable.

“I don’t think that’s how - Did you know someone with that name?” Harry was beginning to get a chill up his spine.

“Indeed I did. They were a rather...notorious family, when I knew them. Almost as noteworthy in their own way as the Bainbridges were in theirs.”

“Did you know them well?” Harry already knew the answer to the question. What were the odds?!

Bob’s nod was both solemn and tense. “Very well indeed. What did she give you, this Mortimer girl, for me?”

Harry was disappointed in the abrupt change of subject, but no longer fearful that Bob wouldn’t explain things eventually. It just had to be in his own time. He handed the wrapped parcel over, and Bob ripped the paper off quickly – and almost dropped the box.

His hands were visibly shaking as he examined it, turning it this way and that.

“Oh,” he murmured, awe-struck. “Oh, my.”

Opening the box, he put a finger inside and flipped a hidden lever; a tiny drawer popped open, and Bob withdrew a ring that had been hidden for centuries. He held it up to the firelight for Harry to see. It appeared to be a dark, clear ruby set squarely in gold, a good-sized stone.

“Gods,” Harry breathed. “She wanted me to give you the box because she said legend has it that it had belonged to the last Lord of Bainbridge. I wish she could know that the legend is true, and the box has found its owner again.”

“Perhaps she already knows. She may be in the family business – which was not antiques, Harry,” Bob told him softly.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “No magic about her, Bob, no vibes or sparks of any kind. Just a nice girl and her dog.”

“She’s so much better off for that,” Bob sighed, relaxing a little. “Bless her, then.”

“She wants to meet you.”

“And I her. You have had an amazingly fruitful afternoon, Harry. I cannot say the same, but I find that I am hungry. Shall we have dinner?”

Dodging again, Harry realized. So far, Bob’s revelations had come in fits and starts. No reason that should change now – and he had more to digest than he’d expected, with the gift of the writing box.

“After you, my lord.”

They had a long, leisurely dinner in the inn’s dining room. Bob positively inhaled his roast lamb with root vegetables. Harry realized that even a simple meal could be a subtle return to the past. It was almost as if the village wanted to make amends in some way, to remind him that his life here hadn’t been all bad. He ate every bite too, which was a joy to see. They moved to the bar after dinner and consumed several brandies, content in long, comfortable silences. Harry closed his eyes, soaking up the happiness he felt at Bob’s ability to finally relax and enjoy himself. He slipped an arm around Bob’s waist, hidden in the leather booth, stroking his side softly through his sweater.

“Harry?” When he looked into Bob’s eyes, he didn’t need a penny for his thoughts. “Shall we go upstairs?” It wasn’t a question. Harry quickly dug in his pocket and put some money on the table. Outside the room, he fumbled with the key, clumsy in his eagerness. Bob went to the fire and put on another log. Once the flames flared into brightness, he turned off the light.

“One can find such beauty in firelight,” he smiled softly, looking up at Harry, touching his face.

Harry shivered at the heat of Bob’s hand. His eyes flickered shut for a moment, and he sighed audibly. “Bob,” he whispered, reaching up to hold the palm against his face. It was only the name he spoke aloud, but the word contained so much more; yes...please...love me...I need you.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Bob apologized, snaking his hands up underneath Harry’s sweater, kneading up and down his back, as he caught Harry’s bottom lip gently between his teeth. Harry made a faint whimpering noise, his lips parting to welcome Bob home. The kiss quickly deepened and intensified. Harry pressed himself against Bob, who was comfortingly hard. He started to shiver as Bob’s hands slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, first smoothing and then squeezing his ass.

“Bob,” he shuddered, “fuck me.”

“All in good time,” Bob purred, delving between Harry’s cheeks, teasing his opening.

“Fuck me. Fuckme. Please, please, fuckmenow...now,” Harry begged openly.

When Bob pulled back to look at him, he was shocked to see helpless moisture in Harry’s eyes. Whatever he might have choreographed in his mind disappeared instantly. That Harry was powerless to keep him from seeing his terrible need, and that he had withheld himself from Harry to this extent, moved Bob as few other things in his unhappy life had.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Yes Harry, yes. It’s all right, I know, I know, love. Shhh,” he murmured, guiding him backwards until he fell onto on the bed. He quickly removed his own clothes, and set about removing Harry’s.

As needful as he was, Harry seemed unable to move unless Bob’s hands were on him. He alternately shivered and bucked with need, never taking his eyes from Bob’s face. Bob moved to lie between his legs, moving his thighs wide apart, fingers teasing softly.

“No!” Harry whimpered. “Need...you...inside...me. Now.” The emotion in his voice and the pain on his face took Bob’s breath away. He did something he hadn’t done in a very, very long time - spat into his hand, twice, covering himself with as much lubrication as he could muster. A third time, he spread the viscid fluid over Harry’s opening, and quickly pressed himself inside.

Harry groaned, gripping Bob’s arms. He was tight; very mindful of their last time, Bob hesitated to begin moving. He looked down into Harry’s pleading eyes, closed his own for a moment, and began to fuck him, slowly.

Harry moaned with each thrust, strange, almost otherworldly sounds of pleasure that increased in volume and frequency as Bob went deeper and faster. His head was thrown back, sweat trickling down his face. Mouth open, half-smiling, the moans became a soft drone of joy.

Bob tilted Harry’s pelvis back slightly, pushed his legs back a little further, and penetrated him as deeply as possible. Rocking forward, he licked the sweat from Harry’s chest before thrusting his tongue into his mouth, fucking him there too. He could feel wave after wave of shudders run through Harry’s body. As he shifted to rock up against his prostate Harry gasped loudly, letting Bob know he had found the mark.

Harry pulled him down, at the same time thrusting up hard. He felt Harry’s sticky release against his belly. Kissing Harry once more, moving from his mouth to his eyelids and back again, he rose up and pulled back slightly, the better to move faster now. Boneless after his release, Harry’s body pressed deeply into the mattress with every snap of his hips. As Bob felt the ultimate tightening deep in his pelvis, he was more than ready to give this particular gift to Harry, who uttered a half sigh, half moan as his lover’s warmth nourished him.

Afterward, Harry was unable or unwilling to speak, and moved only enough to curl himself around Bob like ivy. It was left to Bob to maneuver them under the warmth of the duvet, and to murmur soft assurances and words of love against his neck until Harry’s grip loosened, but only slightly, as he fell asleep wrapped in Bob.

 

                                                                           ***

 

Harry had no idea what time it was, but he suspected it was further into the day than he’d planned. He edged carefully out of bed, hoping Bob was still asleep. He peered out the drapes to see that the village had been enveloped in a heavy, foggy mist that looked like it could turn into sleet. Okay, scratch today’s plans, which could just as easily become tomorrow’s plans. Instead of putting a log on the fire, he turned up the room’s central heating, hoping to combat the dampness which seemed to seep in from outside.

It was just as well, he thought, slipping back under the warmth of the duvet with a wince, that they wouldn’t be able to stick with his original idea for today, because he was pretty damn sore. Remembering what caused his discomfort affected him sort of like an instant virtual pain-reliever, but still...ow. He smiled to himself, feeling a bit sheepish.

Torn between wanting to let Bob sleep and wanting to touch him, at first Harry just moved in close and snuggled, which was nice. He was too happy, however, to stay quiet for long. He rolled over and pressed himself against Bob, running his hand along Bob’s lower back, ass, and the curve of his hip.

“Mmmphff.” Bob stretched, turned his head – and nipped him on the shoulder, while at the same time pressing his lean frame against Harry’s.

“Hey!” Harry snorted. Bending his head, he took a nipple in his mouth, sucked hard, and then bit down rather firmly.

“Ah!”

Without warning, Bob rolled atop him. Eager lips assaulted him as Bob’s pelvis rocked heavily against his, their rapidly wakening cocks colliding. Instinctively Harry’s actions began to match Bob’s, although more clumsily; clever Lord Bainbridge clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

“’migod, Bob! Shit..oh my - ah!” He gasped as Bob’s balls bumped against his, loosing a bolt of lust that shot through him from head to toe, leaving an electric charge in his groin. Bob pressed his weight down slightly and their nipples touched. Harry moaned with pleasure. He reached down and cupped pale cheeks in both hands, conscious of their softness and the light covering of fine hair, never mind the taut muscles working beneath his fingers. Bob continued to move against him, his slim body teasing Harry just enough to keep him aroused but not so much that he craved a quick release. As far as he was concerned, this sweet heat could go on forever.

The sensation of being enveloped in a warm, sexy blanket of Bob was one hell of a wake-up. This more light-hearted, gentle approach to sex made Harry feel loved in a way he hadn’t experienced in too long. It was more about saying “I love you” with your body, and taking your time doing it, than the down-and-dirty quicker gratification that most sex involved. Not that he had anything against that, remembering the previous night – but this was the closest he’d ever felt to Bob, in bed.

“Love you,” he whispered, stroking Bob’s back, gasping and sighing and moaning, and doing all the ‘unmanly’ things he’d ever wanted to do while making love. It felt fantastic.

Bob said nothing; he rumbled and hummed, groaned and kissed and rubbed, but spoke no words. It was almost as if he wanted to keep as quiet as possible. Harry had a suspicion that while it was Bob who was making love to him, it was Robin as well – gentle and sensitive, affectionate, introverted Robin, who couldn’t afford to call out a lover’s name – who could never let anyone hear what he was doing.

Harry moved his legs so Bob sank between them, their cocks hot against each other.

“Say my name,” he coaxed. Bob shook his head, grinding hard against him.

“Harry,” he urged again, snapping his hips against Bob’s, “say my name out loud when you come – Harry. It’ll be okay, I promise. Nothing can hurt you now, Robin,” Harry crooned.

He heard a soft wail of protest, but when he said ‘Robin’, Bob gasped and came, hot against his belly.

“Ah, Harry!”

It wasn’t exactly a triumphant shout, but it was a start. Harry pulled Bob against him, kissing him deeply as he also came.

Their breathing slowed. Neither wanted to move; Harry buried beneath Bob, and Bob cradled in Harry’s arms. Carefully, Harry rolled to his side, holding Bob, stroking the head that lay on his shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’ve ever tried to keep anything from you,” Bob murmured, holding tight to Harry, “you know everything about me. I suspect you always have, on some level, even as a child.”

“I’ve been scared, and confused, but I’ve always had this weird feeling I knew what you were thinking and feeling – I just knew you,” Harry returned. “I thought it was crazy, but since all of this started – I think – have you ever thought, Bob, that Something brought us together? That we were meant to be?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Bob replied simply. “When you were a boy, the thought both angered and frightened me,” he admitted. “As you grew to manhood, I found myself hoping against hope that it might be true. That you have not abandoned me now...that your pain and your need have been as great as mine...at last, I know that it must be true, and I thank whatever deity has brought it about. It makes me think that perhaps I have indeed been forgiven, a little, for my cruelties.”

“I’m glad you believe that,” Harry smiled. “Maybe now you can begin to forgive yourself.”

“That is somewhat of another matter,” Bob sighed, turning his face into Harry’s neck, silent again.

“Bob, please, give yourself a break,” Harry murmured, hugging him tight.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst up the wazoo, and sex also up the....

  
After showering and having an early lunch, at Bob’s request they drove into Richmond. Using the cathedral and castle ruins as well as the two remaining ancient city walls as guides, Bob thought he’d found Master Bartholomew’s house. It was, disappointingly, in the middle of what was now a car park. Fanning out from what had been the old marketplace, he pointed out various sites to Harry, accompanied by anecdotes both serious and amusing. Harry noted that the nearer they came to the castle, the more jumpy and ill-at-ease Bob became, and the same with the historical marker indicating the spot where the medieval stocks used to stand in the marketplace. Clearly, not all of his memories of the town were so fond.

Harry suggested they drive back to Bainbridge, where Bob could meet Tessa if the shop was open – which it was. Emma was in what they would come to realize was her usual place just inside the entrance. She snuffled and yodeled softly in greeting to Harry, who cheerfully fussed over her. Bob, she seemed to quietly take in her stride, with much less ado – yet it was Bob she followed around the shop, and onto whose feet she dropped when they stayed to chat with Tessa.

Harry wasn’t sure if Bob was purposely intent on charming her, but if he wasn’t, it was working anyway – and it looked like vice versa as far as he could tell. The three of them were soon chatting away like old friends, something Harry had seen Bob do with very few people. They learned that Tessa been living in London, studying voice and drama, hoping for a singing career. But money had been in short supply, and she’d apparently had a relationship go sour as well, so when her uncle had needed her, she had come home. She wasn’t sure what she’d do, she told them, as her financial situation didn’t look as if it would ever get any brighter even if she sold the business, and she just didn’t have the heart to go back to London now, with her unhappy memories of a failed relationship.

The talk eventually turned to the last Lord of Bainbridge. Bob thanked Tessa profusely for the writing case, assuring her he would treasure it always. She asked if they had been to the hill above town, where the manor had once stood, not far from the Roman ruins. Not yet, but they would go tomorrow, Bob told her, surprising Harry in his firmness. It was something he’d always known he’d have to do when he got to the village, he continued. Harry knew he was not looking forward to it.

Would they do her a favor, Tessa wondered, appealing to Harry, who had already demonstrated his fondness. Could they take Emma with them, for a good outing? She rarely got enough exercise, and it would do her a lot of good. Harry looked as if he would have said yes straightaway, but he deferred to Mr. Bainbridge...Robert, as he asked her to call him. He smiled, leaned down to pet Emma quietly, and said of course.

It was strange, Tessa mused as she watched Harry and Robert walk back up the high street, how clownishly enthusiastic the still-puppyish Emma was with Harry, whereas with Robert, she behaved as she had with Uncle Ted, who had been her ‘dad’. Well, he was older, and quieter than Harry. She liked his eyes. Odd, the sorts of vibes animals picked up from people. She wasn’t worried, though – Emma obviously adored both of them, and she trusted Emma’s instincts as well as her own. She sensed they were going through some sort of trouble, the same as she was, and they were good people, she was sure of it.

“So...what did you think of her?” Harry asked as they drank hot buttered rum, carried up from the bar, in front of the fire.

“Miss Mortimer, or Emma?” Bob asked drolly. “I noticed you were quite taken with the latter.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Funny man.” He shook his head fondly.

“A sweet girl. You were right, Harry – no guile there, just a good, gentle soul.”

“So...she doesn’t remind you of...Winifride?” Harry asked. He’d known all along what Bob had feared from the moment he’d brought him the box.

“No. The color of her eyes is wrong, and her features – no, nothing about her reminds me of Winifride, believe me – least of all her heart,” Bob frowned, thoughtful, “for I don’t believe Winifride had one.”

“But she does remind you of someone else,” Harry gently prompted, tucking that last bit of information away for the future.

“Oh, yes. Not physically so much, except for her hair, perhaps.” Bob smiled. “But as far as the kind of person she is – yes, she’s much like another Mortimer,” he admitted, giving the name the French accent he had the other night.

“Is that why you felt so comfortable with her?”

Bob shrugged. “I suppose it must be.”

“Bob?” Harry asked quietly. “I’ve been very patient. The name, at least, of my rival?”

Bob turned to look at him, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“Gervase,” he answered softly, “and he has not been your rival for quite some time, my love.”

“But you loved him.”

“Yes, I did. At the time, I loved him more than I had ever cared for anything or anyone,” Bob admitted softly. “He understood me. He valued me for myself, as few have done. He wanted nothing from me but the love I bore him. I felt happy when I was with him – or what passed for happiness in my life then. Throughout the centuries of my imprisonment, and since I have known you, I have come to understand love, and happiness, in a way I could not have, then.” He smiled at Harry.

“One of the things I wanted to do in coming here is to honor my memory of him and his love for me. His loyalty cost him his life, sweet boy that he was. No cunning or dishonor in him, unlike the rest of his family.” The Hrothbert bitterness was strong in his voice. “But of course, I suppose I deserved what I got, speaking of cunning and dishonor,” he sighed, “even if Gervase did not.”

“Honor him with me, Harry. If it hadn’t been for my first love, I would not have been open to my brightest, strongest love,” Bob explained, “my Forever Love. Loving him made it possible for me to love you.”

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. “To Gervase,” he toasted, raising his glass towards Bob. “May he rest in peace, and know that you loved him.”

Tears welled in Bob’s eyes as he raised his glass in return. “Thank you, Harry.”

He fell silent then, and though they talked of other things that night, Bob didn’t mention his long-ago lover again. Harry, reassured that the specter of Gervase wasn’t going to haunt them, let Bob grieve in private.

 

                                                                      ***

 

The next morning, true to his announced intention, Bob was up early. The weather was only slightly drier that it had been the day before, and just as cold.

“Are you sure you really want to do this?” Harry asked, helping to load the boot. Bob looked up towards the hill and then at Harry.

“It’s not something I ‘want’ to do, Harry, but since it’s the reason we came here, it must be done. Otherwise, all your efforts would be for naught,” Bob reminded him. “Wallowing in the bosom of the village, pulling out the few fond memories I have in order to bolster myself with them... No. I must accept it all,” Bob sighed, getting in the car. “But I’m very glad you’re with me,” he confessed, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze as he started the car. From the back seat, Emma added her support with a soft ‘woof’.

Harry had a bad feeling, but he knew Bob was right, as Morgan had known. As much pain as there might be to come, it had to be, or Bob would never heal.

He found that for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain to himself, he was glad to have Emma along. She was a sweet dog, and since she’d first seen Bob she’d clung to him like glue whenever he was in her sight. It was a little strange, in a Twilight Zone kind of way, but cool, too.

Following Bob’s directions and the map, they drove all over the dales for most of the day, pausing here and there for Bob to get out, walk a bit, and remember. Harry respected his privacy and mostly stayed in the car. Emma, however, went with him, and he seemed to take comfort in her presence.

Harry noticed after a while that they hadn’t yet come near the area Tessa had indicated was the site of the old manor of Bainbridge – the place Bob acknowledged he had to go. Harry supposed he was working up his courage.

They drove over a considerable amount of the countryside, beautiful but rather bleak at this time of year, before Bob told Harry to swing back towards the village. He asked Harry to stop on the road just below the hill.

“I should do this alone,” Bob sighed, “although apparently I can’t go anywhere without Emma,” he smiled, scratching her behind the ears. “She’ll see I come to no harm.”

“Bob - ” Harry hesitated. “I don’t think I like this.”

“No more do I. But it has to happen,” Bob insisted. Before he got out of the car, he leaned over and gave Harry a soft kiss.

Harry kissed him back, hugging tight for a moment before letting him go. The door slammed, and Bob and Emma were gone. It was eerily quiet for a city boy. The only sound was the cold wind whipping around the car, and the faint ticking of Harry’s Timex, the only watch he didn’t consistently fry.

Trying not to check the time, Harry leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that Bob would be back in a few minutes, none the worse for wear. Yeahright.

He’d been surprised, going back to the night of Bob’s attack on him, how fragile Bob was when it came to his past life and his sentence. He felt a lot of guilt and pain over what he’d done, and the things that had happened to others because of him, and Harry didn’t believe it was only because Bob didn’t want him to know. That’s what Bob wanted him to think; Hrothbert of Bainbridge, the great and powerful wizard, couldn’t actually admit that he’d screwed up, even to himself. That’s what this trip was really about – Bob coming to terms with his mistakes and their consequences.

Harry was used to screwing up and being told in no uncertain terms that he had, and he was used to accepting the consequences, too. He’d always pretty much had a ‘what the hell, might as well go for it’ attitude towards life that Bob clearly didn’t. Poor Bob, this homecoming was going to be really tough on him.

The wind had picked up and it was misting again, heavily. It was cold, even inside the car. Harry fidgeted, and finally looked at his watch. Not quite half an hour had passed, but he was still uneasy. He jumped, almost hitting his head on the roof of the car, when Emma appeared at the window beside him, pawing at the door and whimpering. Shit.

Harry got out of the car and followed her without thinking. Whatever was between Bob and Emma, he believed in it. Lassie for real.

Bob stood just a few hundred yards above the road, near the bottom of the gently sloping hill. As Harry approached, he swayed and fell to his knees.

“Bob!” Harry knelt beside him. His eyes were wild and unseeing, far away. At first, he didn’t react to Harry’s presence. He shuddered, his body in the grip of some giant convulsion. He turned his head away and vomited, spasm after spasm shaking him like a rag doll. Harry moved behind him for support, one arm going around his chest and the other on the back of his neck.

Bob alternately cried out in anguish or murmured broken phrases in what Harry supposed must be an older version of English, because he was almost able to pick out individual words, even though they didn’t make sense as he had no context. The torment continued for so long that Harry began to wonder if Bob’s physical body could take it.

Finally there was no more to come up and Bob only retched, his body still captive to its compulsion. Holding him, Harry experienced his feelings of deep, heart-felt pain. Waves of misery emanated from him that Harry felt acutely. When Bob had told him about his life, especially his birth and childhood, he’d been pretty dispassionate and fairly controlled, considering what he was relating. All that pain was here, now, smashing through Bob like a tornado passing over a sapling. He was close to being borne away, Harry his only root.

As the spasms began to lessen, Harry pulled Bob back gently to rest against his chest, wrapping his arms around him, rocking.

“Shhhh, shhhhh,” he soothed, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Bob,” he murmured into Bob’s icy ear. Gradually, he moved the two of them a few feet away, cradling Bob securely between his legs. Emma came to lie against them, and Harry was as glad of the warm animal comfort as Bob was.

Harry noticed that both Bob’s hands were clawed shut over handfuls of dirt. He opened them carefully, letting the dirt fall on the ground beside him. He had an odd visual flash as he did so, a sort of QuickTime clip of a crowd of people yelling, a feeling of sheer terror, and a man being...beheaded. Ohgod.

“Bob?” Harry asked very gently against his ear, “are you here? Is this where - ? ”

Bob didn’t answer, but his body jerked in Harry’s arms.

“Oh shit,” Harry sighed, pulling Bob tight against him, pressing his lips against hair, neck, earlobe, shoulder – anywhere he could reach. “I wish there was something I could do.” Bob leaned back into his embrace, trembling.

“You already are,” he murmured. “As much as anyone can.”

“It’s freezing, Bob. Let’s go back to the car, and go get warm and dry,” Harry coaxed.

“I have done so many things I’m ashamed of, Harry,” Bob rasped against his neck. “Evil, vile things. Just because I could do them, and for no other reason. Because I loved power, and enjoyed taking revenge on those whom I thought wronged me in some way. I am evil.”

“Can we talk about this in the car?” Harry asked quietly.

“So I will be comfortable? No, Harry,” he grated. “No. What better place than here, where I met my fitting end.”

Harry had expected as much. He hunkered down against the cold mist and tried to shield Bob from the weather as much as he could.

“After I inherited the manor, I began to work constantly on increasing my powers. I wanted to know all there was to know about the Black, and I had always been a good student, after all. If someone crossed me in business, unfortunate things happened – to their land, or their property. Even to their family. Sometimes, they died, after a painful illness. I am a murderer, many times over,” Bob ground out against Harry’s chest, his voice low and full of pain. “The veiled threats that some on the council make, I acted upon.”

“If someone insulted me, or spoke out in a manner I did not like, they were punished for it, one way or another. People began to talk. There was nothing they could put their finger on at first, but it was observed that if Hrothbert of Bainbridge favored someone, good things came their way in life – and if you angered the Lord of Bainbridge, you could be very unlucky indeed. I was feared and respected, as I had longed to be, but I was not what you would call happy, or even content,” Bob admitted, “because I had no wife, no heir – no one to share my life with.”

“The years passed, though they passed slowly for me, as I had by then learned the secret to slowing my body’s aging. People believed I was my own son and eventually grandson, because I willed them to believe it. I was so arrogant I never thought the Church would take notice, let alone act. I truly believed my enemies were powerless against me, more fool I!” Bob shook his head. “Something Merlin and I had in common, Harry – not seeing an enemy who stood before me, and not seeing or respecting my enemy’s abilities, because that enemy was a woman.” He shifted, resting his head under Harry’s jaw.

“Sir Guillaume Mortimer had been given an estate a few miles from my own, for service to the king. Although such things were not so much an issue as they had been a century or two earlier, the Mortimers intrigued the neighborhood, I guess you would say, because Sir Guillaume hailed from pure Norman stock, while the lady of the manor was from an old Saxon family,” Bob explained. “A union of money and power. Their children were further evidence of this dichotomy – the eldest daughter’s name was Winifride; her brother was Gervase. Only three of their children grew to adulthood – Winifride, Gervase, and the youngest, a girl called Aline. I suppose Tessa must be descended from her.

“Winifride was comely enough and intelligent enough that I schemed to make her my wife. When I learned secretly that she was also a student of the Black...well, that settled the matter for me, if not for her. She had no interest in marrying me at first – after all, I was some years older than she, to say the least. It was only when she learned about my interests, and my power, that she began to reconsider, and eventually agreed to marry me. I should have known!” Bob cried. “Somehow, I should have known. How could I not see it? I was cleverer than anyone else, was I not? Fool!” he wailed, clutching at Harry’s anorak.

Harry was trapped. He knew he couldn’t stop this dialogue; didn’t want to stop it, if it would help Bob. But it was freezing, and they were both soaking wet and shivering with the cold. Even Emma looked miserable. Harry wished he had a choice, but he didn’t see one; let Bob talk, or hustle him back to the hotel and perhaps never have this out.

“Men have always been fools, Bob, and not just for love,” was all he could think of to say. “You’re not immune.”

“I didn’t meet Gervase until my wedding day. He was learning to manage his mother’s estates in the south, but he came for the wedding. Not,” Bob sighed, “that Winifride was glad of it. I saw that they did not get on, but I didn’t understand the depth of their animosity; the hatred on Winifride’s part, until much later.

“Neither of them were what I expected.” He shook his head. “I had not looked for love in a wife – few did, then - but rather than being a pliable young woman who would be decoration on my arm and the dutiful mother of my children, Winifride became my nemesis in magic as well as in my bed. Why,” Bob groaned, “when I knew she was a student of the Black Arts, did I expect her to be a biddable wife? She wed me only for what I could teach her, she cared nothing for me. I had met my match in treachery,” he admitted.

“But Gervase – Gervase was her mirror image. He wanted nothing from me but myself.” Bob smiled slightly in remembrance. “He got past all my defenses with ridiculous ease, simply by not trying to get past them. By not recognizing that I even had any, bless him. He gave me the only happiness I’d had in my life – until, that is, a scruffy eleven-year-old was given into my charge - or perhaps I was given into his,” Bob sighed, leaning in to soak up Harry’s warmth. “But then, Harry – then, he was everything to me.”

“Our life together – Winifride, Gervase, and me – lasted several years before it all came crashing down, thanks to Winifride’s ambition and jealousy. There were never any children. I learned later that she had quickened twice with my seed, and had contrived to divest herself of the annoyance both times,” Bob relayed sadly.

“As my joy in Gervase continued to grow, so did her anger and jealousy towards him, and her recklessness when it came to the Black. She dared me, taunted me, until we became quite careless and both Church and Crown came to notice. Old enemies bided their time, waiting until one or the other of us made a move upon which they could pounce. Gervase and I, lost in ourselves, didn’t see the danger; well, he never did, and I only when the wheels of destiny were already in motion.”

Bob hesitated. It seemed as if he would speak, but he remained silent. He began to shiver uncontrollably, clinging to Harry like a drowning man. When Harry saw his face, he gasped; Bob’s skin was gray, his lips blue with cold.

“That’s enough,” Harry told him, “we’re going back to the hotel now, before we both catch our deaths.” He wasn’t worried about himself, but Bob was starting to scare the hell out of him.

“Yes Harry,” Bob whispered faintly against his neck, completely spent.

Struggling, Harry stood and brought Bob up with him. They scrambled down the hill, with Bob leaning heavily against him; once they reached the road Harry picked Bob up in his arms and carried him the rest of the way to the car.

Harry tugged a blanket snugly around Bob and a large towel around Emma, who was so wet her ears were dripping. He started the engine and turned the heater on full blast. Bob looked like shit. Harry’s hands and feet were numb with cold as he drove back down into the village, praying.

Harry rarely prayed while growing up, and after he went to live with Justin, not at all. It wasn’t that he disbelieved, exactly, but he’d never had the slightest sign that God was aware of his existence, so there didn’t seem to be much point. Now, however, he knew, as Bob knew, that they had been brought together for a reason by powers much stronger than themselves – and maybe it was time to say thank you, along with begging for Bob’s life.

_Please, I_ can _’t lose him now. Please, don’t do that to us. You heard how sorry he is. I know you heard him. Please just let us have each other and we’ll never ask for anything else, pleaseplease....._

How he got Bob upstairs without both of them collapsing or making a scene in the lobby, Harry never knew. Emma trotted right behind them, and would not be put off. In a blur, he called the desk and explained to the manager that Mr. Bainbridge had gotten a good soaking and was feeling ill. He asked for fresh towels and some hot water bottles to be sent up, followed by a bottle of brandy and dinner.

He explained about Emma, and asked that someone take her back to Tessa. The manager hesitated, then told him that Tessa was away for a few hours, but that if they didn’t mind Emma could stay with them, or in the lobby if they preferred. As in many hotels in Britain, dogs were welcome in the rooms. Harry looked over at Emma, huddled on the bed close to Bob. He asked the manager for something for Emma’s dinner. No difficulty at all, sir. Everything is in motion, rest assured.

Putting the phone down, Harry fought a rising panic. He fumbled at starting a fire, barely taking the time to see that it caught. He put a towel down on the floor in front of the fireplace for Emma. For the first time since they’d arrived days ago, he turned on the hot water tap in the deep porcelain tub, ignoring the shower. While the water ran, he scrambled to collect what he thought he’d need. When the tub was full, he returned to Bob, whom he’d left bundled in a blanket on the bed. It had been less than fifteen minutes since they’d entered the room, but it felt like a century.

Bob’s general color was still bad and chills shook his body; tiny fever spots already burned in his cheeks. Harry stripped off his soaking wet clothes, dropping them in a soggy pile. He kicked off his own shoes and his wet sweater.

“I’ve got a hot bath ready,” he told Bob, lifting him around the waist. He was almost but not quite a dead weight, shuffling clumsily as Harry maneuvered them into the bathroom, and Bob into the tub. Bob winced at the temperature of the water as his skin began to turn pink; Harry knew it wasn’t hot enough to burn him. Bob’s breathing was harsh and interspersed with wheezes.

“Relax,” Harry encouraged. He squeezed water over Bob’s head, warming his face with a wet cloth. Bob continued to shiver silently for several minutes while Harry ran fresh hot water into the tub whenever it began to cool. Eventually, Bob leaned his head against the back of the tub, closed his eyes, and gave a shaky sigh.

“Harry,” he whispered, his voice faint, reaching out blindly. When his hand connected with Harry’s, he squeezed it tightly. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me yet.”

“I have no intention of leaving you, now or ever,” Harry assured him, his voice rough with emotion, “although you’ve pretty much scared the crap out of me this afternoon.”

“Me, too,” Bob admitted. “I don’t feel well at all, Harry.” It came out as close to a whimper as Harry had ever heard from Bob, and frightened him all over again.

“I can’t imagine why,” he groaned, kissing Bob’s forehead softly. “I’m sorry. We’ll have you in a warm bed soon. Emma and I. She won’t leave you, Bob,” Harry told him. Bob smiled.

“Still playing nursemaid,” he whispered. Harry wondered for a second if Bob meant him or the dog, but then he remembered something Bob had told him months ago about his childhood, and a puzzle piece fell into place.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “it looks like she is.”

He picked up the washcloth and soaped it, wiping it gently over Bob’s back and shoulders and down his arms, working at loosening fingers that were still half clenched in remembered agony. He bathed Bob as tenderly as if he was the child Robin, and Bob was happy to let him, soaking up the love.

It made Harry want to cry when he imagined Bob existing all those centuries without any physical comfort at all - his entire life, really, except for the time he had with Gervase. This time, Harry needed no prompting from Bob to send up a prayer on Gervase’s behalf, hoping he would at last know that Hrothbert was loved again, and taken care of.

Pouring shampoo into his palm, Harry worked up a good lather and massaged it slowly and gently into Bob’s hair, his fingertips soothing the white head.

“I’m going...to remember this,” Bob rasped. “Dear Harry.” His head fell forward against Harry, who kept on for another few minutes, until the water was obviously cooling, before he grabbed a cup from the basin and poured the water over Bob’s head several times until the shampoo was gone.

“Can you stand up?” Harry asked, pulling the plug.

“I think so...if you help me,” Bob asked. “I feel very odd...and weak. It’s as if...something is pulling me back...there. And I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go back, Harry. Help me,” he pleaded.

Harry shivered as a feeling of dread crept over him. He didn’t know if it was Bob’s feeling or his own, but it was nasty.

“I’ll do anything for you,” he soothed. “You’re not going back if I can help it – and if you do I’m going with you,” Harry vowed, “because I’m never leaving you. I’m never leaving you, Bob,” he repeated, stroking the damp head pressed against his chest. He would say it as many times as Bob needed to hear it.

“Harry.”

He’d never heard his name uttered like a prayer before. It was humbling...terrifying. Empowering.

“Up we go,” he coaxed, supporting Bob as he stood shakily.

Once out of the tub, Bob sat on the commode as Harry enveloped him in towels from head to toe, rubbing briskly.

“Better?” Harry asked after a minute.

“Mmmmmm.” Bob nodded, still leaning against Harry, more in pleasure now than in need.

  
“Take these, they’ll make you feel better,” Harry urged, offering aspirin and holding out a glass of water. Bob swallowed obediently.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry told him. He opened the door into the room and saw that everything he’d asked for had been brought. He turned down the covers and stuck the hot water bottles in. Then he went back for Bob and walked him to the bed, tucking him in snugly.

“Try to sleep,” Harry coaxed. “I’ll be right here beside you, and so will Emma,” he smiled. The dog had not waited to be invited, but was already snuggled against Bob’s thigh on the far side of the bed.

“Promise?” Bob croaked faintly, lifting his arm from beneath the covers to grasp Harry’s wrist.

“Promise,” Harry returned. He quickly stepped out of his pants and socks, and slid under the covers, mummifying the two of them under the thick duvet. Bob curled up tight against him, as if he were trying to lose himself in Harry’s arms. After many minutes of being gently stroked and rocked and shushed the tension finally left his body, and he lay heavy against Harry, sinking into sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst-o-Rama

  
Bob’s thrashing woke Harry. He seemed to be in the grip of a nightmare, his face contorted, though whether in fear or pain it was hard to tell. He was damp with sweat, his face red and appallingly hot when Harry pressed his palm against it.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Bob. It’s only a bad dream,” Harry soothed. “Wake up now.”

But he did not wake, and Harry realized that although it would be easy to tell himself Bob was simply having a fevered nightmare, that wasn’t exactly what was going on here. ‘Something’ was, as he’d feared, still pulling him back – something he dreaded. His body bowed and shivered in agony, and he whimpered like a frightened child. He was lost in ancient nightmares, and Harry was going to have to dive in and bring him back.

Emma whined, licking Bob’s hand.

“It’s okay, girl. I won’t let go of him,” Harry promised.

He gathered Bob in his arms, took a deep breath, and lay his forehead against Bob’s, concentrating. At first he felt only the physical pain Bob was feeling, but after a bit he began to zero in on other sensations. He felt like someone, or something, was clawing viciously at his face and body. He centered himself and repulsed the negative force he felt back to its source. A harsh keening hurt his ears, though he knew he and Bob were the only ones who could hear it.

“He is mine!”

Harry winced at the power behind the belief.

“He’s never been yours, and he never will be,” Harry challenged. “He’s mine and I’m his – and you don’t want to mess with me, sister,” he warned.

The pain was so sharp, Harry felt his head had been cleaved in two. Bob cried out in his arms.

Enough, Harry thought. I’ve had damn well enough of the legend and the ghost of Winifride in my life, and I’ve had enough of her and her damn Black magic controlling Bob’s destiny. It.stops.here. She’s not going to have control of him ever again.

He knew it wasn’t literally Winifride the sorceress who was taunting him, but the residue of her considerable energy and power, intertwined with Bob’s subconscious fear of her and whatever he believed she represented in his relationship with Harry. It was Bob he had to convince here, as much as Winifride. Harry took his time, gathering all the will he possessed.

I’m going to banish her, Bob – forever. She’s never coming back for you again. She has no power over you. She can’t take you away from me. She can’t. Emma and I won’t let her, he added, willing to use whatever talisman Bob believed in.

It hurt. God, it hurt. Winifride was loathe to give up her claim on the Lord of Bainbridge and he was too battered to fight the battle on his own behalf any longer. Between her and Bob, they almost beat him...almost. There was a heartbeat pounding in his ears, louder and louder, like something from The Tell-Tale Heart, and the strong capable arms of a woman – not Winifride, he thought - at the edge of his vision, and then...nothing.

Winifride was gone. Bob lay limp in his arms. Emma panted heavily, unable to lift her head from the blanket. Harry felt like he’d just run an Olympic marathon, and his own heart was about to burst from his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered, stroking Emma’s ear. She licked his hand.

Harry lay back on the bed, trying to catch his breath. Bob’s body felt slightly cooler under his fingers, as if whatever had gripped him was slowly subsiding.

Bob stirred. He looked at Harry in wonder, only a thin halo of celadon framing the black pupils.

“What you did for me - I have never imagined there being anyone in my life who would have the power to do what you have done...Beloved,” he whispered. “You would not abandon me.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so ashamed that I have ever doubted you.” He buried his face against Harry’s chest.

Happy beyond measure that he had freed Bob from centuries of torment and slavery, Harry held him close, stroking him tenderly.

“It’s all over now, love,” he crooned. “Let it all go. It’s going to stay here, where it belongs. It will never follow us again.”

Bob nodded in agreement. “Yes.” He no longer feared to tell Harry the rest. Surely, Harry would not be happy to learn it, but just as surely, he would not leave.

Not just yet, though. He was more exhausted than he remembered being in his life, and had borne more today than he would have believed possible. If he deserved any kind of reward for that, he would have it tonight.

“Nap?” Harry asked, a tender smile on his face.

“Mmm-mmmh,” Bob agreed, burrowing into Harry’s naked warmth.

“Sweet dreams,” Harry offered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

 

                                                                      ***

 

When they woke again, both were hungry. Harry let Emma out, knowing she would go down to the lobby and that someone would let her back in, and she would eventually let them know she was back. They were clearly an inseparable team now. Harry wondered if Tessa would mind very much losing her dog, or if she’d hoped this would happen all along. He rather suspected the latter.

He propped Bob up with all the bed pillows and slowly spoon-fed him a delicious-smelling stew laced with burgundy, and a glass of port.

Bob found his appetite satisfied as much by watching Harry’s dark eyes shining with love as each spoonful came to him, as by the food.

When both of them were sufficiently full of stew, Harry built up the fire again and poured them healthy snifters of brandy.

Bob knew he was a fool for speaking up now, but he was troubled and needed an answer.

“Forgive me, Harry, but – I don’t understand why...how easily you accept my transgressions, which are not minor ones. I have acted against everything the Council stands for,” he sighed, “time and again.”

“Bob, you forget what a black sheep I am in the wizard community. I’m a Morningway, remember? The Black and its temptations are supposed to be in my genes,” Harry reminded him. “Always judged by my name, by people who don’t even know me. And thanks to Uncle Justin, I know better than most people, maybe, that sometimes good people do bad things, whether they’re for the right reasons or the wrong ones,” he sighed.

“I know how sorry you are, and how much you regret the things you’ve done. I know how much pain it’s caused you,” Harry continued. “I deal with what you’ve told me because I understand the person you were born to be before Life fucked you over. You believe that, don’t you?” he asked, waiting for Bob’s shy nod of agreement.

“I know what’s in your heart. What matters most is what’s in that heart now, Bob. The past can be the past, but only if you’ll let it.” Harry petted Bob’s white head softly. “And you forget the most important thing – I love you,” he murmured, kissing an eyebrow.

Bob closed his eyes. It was overwhelming, this being rewarded for honesty, for lack of guile. He’d had it from Gervase, but as sweet and loving as he was, Gervase was not this...this warrior of his heart, that Harry had become. Harry would die for him, and he would gladly die for Harry.

What sort of a strange world was it that forgave such grave sins and gave second chances? Not one that he could understand, obviously. But perhaps he didn’t need to understand everything; perhaps he could, after all these years, simply live without questioning any more. Content, he rolled over against Harry, stifling a grunt of discomfort from his abused body.

“What is it?”

“I’m rather sore,” Bob admitted.

“I’m not surprised. I know what you need - stay put for a minute,” Harry called over his shoulder, heading into the bathroom.

“Harry, come back. You needn’t fuss over me any more, I’ll be all right,” Bob called after him.

“Yeah, well, maybe – but I like fussing over you, so you’d better get used to it, understand?”

“I think I could do that.” Bob smiled to himself. Harry returned with a bottle of lotion and spread the bedclothes back.

“On your stomach,” he nudged. Bob raised a puzzled eyebrow.

“The fussing, Bob,” Harry teased.

“Ah - right.” Bob settled in the middle of the bed, not sure what was coming but fairly certain it would be pleasurable.

“Close your eyes, and keep them closed...and relax. That’s an order,” Harry added, softly teasing.

Bob complied. In a moment, he felt Harry‘s weight dip the mattress slightly. A delightful warmth pressed itself across his hips. Harry’s hands. Very slowly, in minute increments, they moved both higher and lower, gently stroking the muscles of his lower back and onto his buttocks. The pressure of thumbs hurt just a little as he pressed sore muscles, but the tender hands soothed along after. Bob groaned.

“Am I hurting you?” Harry asked quickly.

“No! No...it’s just...I’ve never felt such bliss before,” he admitted.

“No one’s ever given you a massage?”

“No.”

Bob shivered at the soft, unexpected touch of Harry’s lips at the base of his spine.

“Well...it might be your first, but it won’t be your last,” Harry vowed. “You just enjoy it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Bob let himself travel to another plane. He was here, with Harry, but he was also floating on a cloud of pure sensual delight as Harry’s hands stroked and kneaded him. Let others call this what they would; for Bob it was as much sweet, endless caress as therapy.

He felt the tension slip from his body as thumbs, fingers and elbows stroked and pressed from the top of his skull to the bottoms of his feet. More groans escaped him as Harry worked on his head, fingers rifling softly through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Thumbs pressed at the base of his skull and then let go, releasing the ache in his head and shoulders.

Harry worked up from the backs of his thighs to his ass, paying careful attention to the top of his hips. Even though the movements were not meant to be sexual, Bob felt deep, powerful stirrings in his pelvis. It was different than the arousal he felt when having sex...stronger, and not just centered in his genitals but traveling throughout his body.

“Turn over.”

Harry spoke softly in his ear. It was a good thing Harry didn’t wait for him to actually attempt it, as he wasn’t sure he could move at this point. Harry rolled him over and began again, starting from his shoulders, rubbing all the knots and soreness away. He picked up a hand and began to work gently at the stiffness there, where Bob had clutched so desperately at the earth holding his mortal remains. He worked just as tenderly on the other hand, and then moved to his legs, and feet – who would have thought that could feel so good?

He was almost asleep when he felt Harry lift his cock with one hand and lightly cup his balls with the other. He opened his eyes in surprise.

“Is this a usual part of massage?” His voice sounded slurred.

“Not always,” Harry explained. “Tonight? Service of the House. It’s fine if you want me to stop,” Harry told him, waiting.

“Oh no,” he smiled, reaching out to stroke Harry’s forearm. “Don’t stop.”

Harry nodded, leaning forward to capture Bob’s mouth in a soft, sensual kiss. His caresses were much the same, more soothing him to orgasm than urging. He was almost content to float in this lake of pleasure forever. Almost.

Harry’s tongue flicked and danced and flirted with his, lightly, joyously. Bob’s response was just as eager, if slower. He was definitely in two minds about wanting this to end as it must...until Harry left his mouth and slid down, dropping kisses between his ribs. Breathing warmly against his belly. Nipping his curls just hard enough to make him groan with want.

Bless him, Harry didn’t make him wait. He shivered when Harry pressed a wet kiss to the head of his cock, vibrating his tongue slightly against the underside. Hands and mouth worked quickly in concert to relieve him. When Harry began to suck, Bob felt as if a powerful spiral of...Something...was being pulled from deep inside him, like the extraction of a tooth with very deep roots. For a moment he was afraid for Harry, but the fear passed and when it did he let go, shuddering with pleasure as Harry drained him.

Harry moved to lie beside him, and Bob heard him breathing heavily. He opened his eyes with difficulty and saw that Harry was sweating. A shiver of fear ran through him. He’d been right to worry.

“Harry!”

“ ‘s okay, Bob. It’s already passing,” Harry panted. “I’m stronger than he is...was,” he added softly.

“He - ?”

“...needed to know you were in good hands. That you’re protected,” Harry told him, “and loved. It’s okay now,” he assured Bob. There had been no real power to hold onto him – to claim him - but Harry had felt a powerful love, and fear for Bob. He’d done his best to reassure the anxious specter, and Bob’s memory of him.

“Harry? Hold me.”

Harry rolled over and pulled Bob into his arms, kissing him softly.

“Always. I’ll always be holding you, Bob, even if you can’t see me.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Harry woke to weak winter sunshine trickling through open drapes. The bed beside him was empty, and only faintly warm. He sat up, trying to clear his vision. The bathroom door was closed, and the shower was running. Emma was lying on a blanket in front of a nicely crackling fire. Breakfast was laid out, covered, on the table by the window.

He lay back down and closed his eyes. Could he hope that the worst was behind them, and that they might soon have nothing more to think about than loving each other? It seemed like forever since he could take Bob loving him, and making love to him, for granted. He sighed. Whether either of them had realized it, the taking for granted had been part of the problem. It was something he knew he’d never do again, not after this.

Bob was a complete, unique individual, with talent at some things and lack of talent in others; with likes and dislikes and worries like anyone else, and Harry was going to work on letting him know that he valued all of him. He wasn’t the utterly self-possessed, all-knowing, always in control guy Harry’s younger self had needed him to be. He had fears, uncertainties, doubts and needs of his own. Knowing that, and knowing how much Bob loved and needed him, it didn’t seem so important any more that Bob should always be the one who had all the answers. It felt pretty incredible to know that he was able to give Bob something he needed. It made him feel, after all these years, like a grown-up...half of an equal partnership. It was a really good feeling.

The bathroom door opened, and Bob emerged in a cloud of steam, clad only in a towel. When he saw that Harry was awake he came to the bed, leaned down and kissed him on the mouth – an intimate lover’s kiss that would have made Harry more than weak in the knees if he’d been standing.

“Mmmmh,” he sighed, holding on to Bob’s still slightly damp waist, “good morning to you, too. You smell,” he added almost shyly, “fantastic.”

Bob cocked his head and one eyebrow. “You like that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I definitely do,” Harry admitted with a grin. “What is it? It’s familiar, I think, but I don’t know where I’ve smelled it before.”

“Something I’ll make sure I have on hand,” Bob purred, licking Harry’s earlobe and continuing in a line down his jaw to his throat. Harry tipped his head back with a sigh.

“Want you,” he moaned, pulling Bob forward across his body.

“And I you. Every minute of every day and night, Harry,” Bob confessed, dropping soft, much more chaste kisses on Harry’s face and neck before he reluctantly sat up. “But I thought perhaps we could go out into the countryside today, since the weather has improved.”

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked.

Bob’s unexpected smile was genuine, and it thrilled Harry to his toes.

“Very well,” he assured him. “I feel – it’s difficult to describe...as if chains I hadn’t known I was carrying have suddenly dropped away, and I’m – lighter than air.” His smile was tinged with wonder. “I feel like I can do anything. Some sort of dread has passed from deep within me...a pall I hadn’t understood I existed under. I’m free, Harry. Almost completely free,” Bob choked, “because of...you,” he finished hesitantly.

“Because of my love for you,” Harry prompted softly, knowing Bob had been afraid to say it. Bob nodded, still shy of the knowledge, afraid to press or test it any further.

“You couldn’t have said anything that would make me happier,” Harry smiled. He sat up, pulling Bob into his arms, stroking the head that lay on his shoulder. “And we’re going to work on getting rid of that ‘almost’ today, so you won’t be worrying about it any more. Okay?”

Bob trembled slightly, and held tight to Harry. “Okay,” he agreed.

After a few more minutes of concentrated Bob-petting, which Harry hated to stop, he got up to take his own shower, and when he was done they sat down to eat breakfast. For Harry, eating seemed to be taking second place to just looking at Bob sitting across the table from him, his face more carefree than he’d ever seen it. Bob, however, seemed famished, and he ate enough for the two of them. Having seen him wasting away for so long, Harry was pleased at this development.

When Bob went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Harry grabbed the phone and hurriedly gave the desk instructions. He also asked if they would look after Emma for the day. They were going to be covering a lot of ground, and she wouldn’t be able to keep up. When Bob appeared again, Harry encouraged him to wear his jeans and a warm woollen jumper; he was dressed similarly.

They went downstairs and handed Emma over to the landlord with a pat and a promise to be back before dark. When they went outside, Harry took Bob’s elbow and steered him not towards the car park, but around the back of the inn – where two horses, both with loaded saddlebags, awaited them.

“I thought you might want to ride. That it might give you more of a sense of the countryside you remember,” Harry explained. “You do ride?” he asked belatedly, suddenly not positive this was such a great idea.

Bob appeared dumbfounded. At first he stood stock-still, just staring at the horses. Then he walked up to one of them and began to rub the animal’s nose, talking to it so softly that Harry couldn’t hear. He turned back with a positively huge grin on his face.

“Oh, Harry!” he laughed. “Yes, I ride. I did. It was one of my few pleasures, the hours spent with my horses. This is – thank you!” he gasped, squeezing Harry’s arm hard. Out in the open, in the middle of the village, Harry understood he didn’t want to risk a hug or a kiss.

“Fantastic,” he grinned back. “Let’s ride!”

They mounted and headed out of the village. From a little distance, Bob began to point things out – the mill, and the forge. Where he thought the village church had been. Harry knew he must be thinking of Father Ranald.

Riding farther, above the site of the manor and across another dale, from a distance he pointed out the Mortimer lands, and the road that had once gone to Richmond and Master Bartholomew.

Bob was an excellent horseman – much more one with the animal than Harry, who loved to ride but rarely had the opportunity. When he’d last been alive, Bob would have considered his horses an extension of his own body, and it showed. He lavished praise and pats on the animal, and high spirits, both on the part of the horse and on Bob’s part, were the result.

“There’s a place I want to show you. We can stop and rest there, and have our lunch,” Bob told him – and took off across the dale at a mad gallop, grinning over his shoulder at Harry, who took several minutes to catch up. They rode on until Bob pointed ahead, and Harry could see a small stand of trees. As they approached, he could hear the trickle of water. It used to be much larger, Bob explained – forest land, for hunting. Land the Bainbridges had held in charter for their kings.

They stopped the horses beside the stream and let them drink before moving up a gentle hill and into the cover of the few remaining trees. Harry got out a small tarp and spread it on the ground, and covered that with a plaid blanket from the saddlebags. The other saddlebags held a very simple lunch of fresh bread and local cheese, and a bottle of wine.

“We used to come here, Gervase and I,” Bob explained, “when we wanted to be alone. It was beautiful then, dark and thick and quiet, and very peaceful. Sitting here now, I can almost see it as it was,” he sighed.

“I’m glad you feel good memories here,” Harry told him. “I’m glad there were good memories.”

“The horses. The fresh cold air. This place.... It makes my task a little less daunting. Thank you, Harry,” Bob sighed, tipping the wine bottle up for a healthy swig. Harry, who had guessed that might be the case, was relieved.

Yet Bob was restless and quite anxious, calming scenery notwithstanding. When they had finished eating and the wine bottle was empty, Harry pressed him back on the blanket, smoothing his hair, kissing him in quick, hot nibbles, his hands moving beneath Bob’s sweater as restlessly as Bob’s mood.

“Harry?”

“You need this. I need this. It’ll help,” Harry soothed. He reached for the button and zipper of Bob’s jeans and quickly had them open. In the cold air, Bob’s cock felt like it was on fire. Harry stroked purposefully, quick and to the point.

Bob gasped in surprise, his head tossing and his hips bucking as the heat flared in his groin. Clever Harry! Hot, and hard, and quick, oh yes! His heart was pounding in his ears. The fear was there, but so was lust, plain and simple. Harry’s mouth closed over him and he shut his eyes and let the need flow freely, thinking for a few precious minutes only of Harry’s mouth and hands, and knowing that it was Harry making him feel this way and knowing why, telling him not to be afraid.

He sobbed aloud as Harry drained him, feeling, as he had hoped this morning, completely free at last, for those few seconds. And when he remembered what he’d come here to do, the endorphins were still there calming him.

They lay quietly for several minutes, Bob’s head on Harry’s chest, before Bob began to speak.

“Now that you know I didn’t bring Winifride back because I loved her, as the Council and everyone else believed, you need to know why I did it...why I kept doing it,” he began softly. “It was,” he sighed, “because I hated her, so very deeply.

“Her jealousy and her recklessness began to know no bounds. Even though I believed I knew her, I didn’t think she would do such a thing,” he shuddered, halting for a moment, comforted by Harry’s arm tight around him.

“She might have done it by magic; that I would have understood. She might have done it a dozen ways, but what she did - ” Bob’s voice was thick with emotion. “Gervase went off with his retainers and some men at arms to hunt a dangerous boar that Winifride said the villeins were complaining about, having killed a great many livestock. She contrived, with the help of some of her own men, to leave Gervase helpless and unarmed in the path of the animal.” Another deep shudder ran through him.

“It tore him to pieces. Literally. I could hardly recognize his garments, and that was all. He wasn’t even whole to bury. I prayed that he was whole in God’s eyes, because God knew how good he was.” Bob shuddered. “He is buried here, Harry, where we are. It’s why I brought us here. I needed to remember once again why I did what I did to Winifride,” he explained.

“She laughed at me when I came to her – a laugh of such terrible glee I wanted to strangle her then, myself. But Hrothbert, full of cunning and an insane desire for revenge, needed time to think, so I allowed her to believe that she had triumphed over me.

“It took me nearly a moon’s time, but at last the stage was set. Certain people within the household – her people, not mine – informed on her to the Church, and to the local magistrates. Not only what she had done to her own brother, but the rest of it as well. I came out innocent as a lamb.”

“She was to be burned at the stake, in full view of the village and the magistrates. It was my pleas on her behalf that altered her sentence – to drowning, still a fit punishment for a witch.” Harry winced at the tight smile of remembrance on Bob’s face; a terrible smile.

“She knew she owed even that small mercy to her executioner. Yes, of course she knew it was I who had betrayed her – who else? She went to her death screaming my name amidst a shower of curses, each more terrible than the one before. Yet she still drowned, like the bitch she was,” Bob spat out.

He sat up. He needed to look at Harry now, needed to see his face.

“So why did I bring her back? My life was in ruins. I had the manor of Bainbridge, and I now also held the Mortimer lands as well. I had power, money, and the sympathy and good will of the people, as much as I had ever had it. But as time passed, I knew I had nothing. Gervase, the only light in my life, was gone. I was convinced there would never be another. Every pleasure I tasted turned to ashes in my mouth. I had nothing to live for,” Bob told him. “I was lonely and miserable, and it was all because of her.

“I decided she had not suffered enough, and I could find a way to make her suffer even more. I brought her back, Harry,” Bob spoke clearly, “merely so that I could kill her again...to bring her back as many times as I chose, just to kill her yet again and take pleasure in all her sufferings.

“I became the same monster she had been. That was her final revenge.”

After all they had gone through together, Bob had done it. Harry was dumbstruck. It was a truly horrible revelation; he hadn’t exaggerated. Dear God, this was going to take some working through. Bob stared at him, waiting for the axe of his doom to fall.

“That’s bad, Bob. I can’t tell you it isn’t, and I can’t just say ‘that’s okay’ about this one,” he said quietly, “because we both know it’s not okay. I need to think about this. We’ll get through it, but...not so easy this time, I think,” he sighed.

“Don’t panic. I’m not going anywhere, and I haven’t stopped loving you,” he insisted, haunted by the fear and misery in Bob’s pale eyes, “but I need time and space to think.”

“Of course you do,” Bob agreed, now not able to meet his eyes.

“I’m going to ride by myself for a while. Just point to the general direction of the village, and I’ll end up there eventually. You can get back by yourself, can’t you?” Harry asked. Bob’s nod was subdued.

“Take your time here,” Harry told him, squeezing his hand lightly. “Talk to Gervase. Talk to Winifride too. You should, you know,” he suggested. “And I’ll see you back at the inn. Okay?”

“Yes, of course, Harry.”

They tidied up the picnic remains in strained silence, and Harry mounted his horse. “See you later,” he called, hating the look on Bob’s face – the look that told Harry that once again, Hrothbert of Bainbridge carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

                                                                   ***

 

God, he was tired! He felt as if every nerve in his body were standing at attention, yet he was physically and emotionally exhausted. He’d ridden and ridden, stopped, sat and thought, worried, and thought some more. When he came to a kind of peace within himself, he headed back. If he hadn’t found that peace, he didn’t know what he would have found to say to Bob. The mothers and wives of serial torturers on Death Row usually still loved their children, after all. He would never stop loving Bob, but whether he could come to terms with being in love with someone who had done what Bob had done...that had been another question.

He was about to go up the stairs when the manager caught him. Mr. Bainbridge was in the lounge – had been there, in fact, for several hours. Perhaps Mr. Dresden might want to...collect him, and make sure that he reached their room safely? Wow, Harry mused, what a classy way to say that Bob was blotto and needed an escort or he’d fall over. He nodded in thanks.

Bob sat in the darkest corner of the room. A shot glass and a bottle of Scotch sat on the table in front of him. He knew Harry was standing there, but he wouldn’t look up.

“Let’s go up to the room,” Harry suggested. Bob shook his head, still not looking at him.

“No. Not going up there – alone with you. ‘m staying here. You can’t tell me here. People would hea- hear.” Bob was drunk. Harry didn’t blame him.

“Come on, love,” he tried again. At the term of affection, Bob dared a look at him. He must not have been totally terrified at the expression on Harry’s face, because he didn’t say anything, but he didn’t refuse. Harry leaned over and took his elbow, carefully prying him out of the seat.

Fortunately, it wasn’t far from the lounge to the stairs. Somehow, Bob managed to stay upright with only Harry’s hand on his arm. Once they were out of sight of the lobby, however, on the stairs, Harry practically had to carry him up.

For the first time, Harry didn’t bother with actually starting the fire, he just sent a flick of energy towards the fireplace and it blazed instantly. He sat Bob in a chair in front of the hearth and he moved the other chair close, facing Bob.

“So. What – will you do?” Bob’s voice was slightly slurred, but Harry suspected he would sober rapidly now.

“Learn to live with it – like you have,” he answered.

“How can you possibly excuse what I am?”

“Because, for one thing, it’s what, or who, you were, not who you are today. You aren’t that person any more, Bob. You know you aren’t, and I know you aren’t. You have to just let it go,” Harry told him.

“But to be able to do such a thing – how do you know I won’t...revert to what I was, then?”

“You want to know how I can be sure, in my heart?” Harry asked. “Because I know you won’t. I know, Bob. It won’t happen. That was then, this is now. Now, Robert Bainbridge and Harry Dresden have each other, and that’s all either of them will ever need, because we are the same heart, the same soul. We are One, Bob – and I know with every fiber of my being that you will never do anything like that again, or ever be tempted to. It’s not something I hope, it’s something I know,” Harry insisted. He had taken both of Bob’s hands, and was looking straight into his eyes.

“As for the rest of it – I’ve done a lot of thinking today, a lot of piecing things together in my head,” Harry told him, “and I’ll tell you why we’re going to leave this behind us after tonight, if you’ll listen to me. You really need to hear me on this, Bob. Please,” Harry finished softly. Bob stared at him, spellbound at his passion.

“I’m listening, Harry, but I’m a drowning man,” he admitted.

“The lifejacket is here, Bob,” Harry told him, holding tight to one hand. He poured himself a drink from the brandy on the table.

“You were a victim of incredible child abuse from the moment you were born. You never had a chance to grow up healthy, either in mind or body. You had no real sense of yourself as worth anything. You never had enough to eat, or any affection. You were beaten regularly. Everything and everyone you loved was brutally taken from you, and you were taunted at your losses besides - and all of this when you were powerless to do anything about it. No wonder you wanted power over your enemies!” Harry shook his head.

“Can you imagine what would happen to a child today who went through what you did? Most of them wouldn’t survive, and those that did would be wife and child beaters or serial killers - or have multiple personalities.” Harry smiled a little at the last bit. “That you came through suffering only from the most harmless of all those things is a miracle to me,” he told Bob. “You are a survivor. You made it, Bob, and that’s pretty damn amazing. Life mattered that much to you, even when it was a pretty sad one. You wanted to live, and you’re still here. You’re here and I can touch you – how incredible is that, after all you’ve been through?” Harry asked, bringing Bob’s hand up to press his lips against it.

“In the time you’ve lived under your sentence, you’ve seen the world change a lot. You understand now, as the world understands today, the value of human life – and what you’ve done horrifies you. But when you were born and when you lived, Bob, life was cheap and short, and brutal,” Harry reminded him. “In your time, and in your class, most people felt like you did – life wasn’t worth much. From what you’ve told me, the only difference between you and your father was that you used magic to kill people, and he did it the old-fashioned way. And there were thousands of lords, royalty and gentry who did the same thing. You’re no worse than they are, love,” he finished.

Bob slipped out of his chair to sit on the floor at Harry’s feet. He rested his head against Harry’s knee, arms wrapped tight around Harry’s leg like a child.

“And as for Winifride – you were fighting evil with evil; it was all you had. The one thing you loved most in all the world that hadn’t already been taken from you was destroyed for no reason other than evil, and you hurt. You hurt bad.

“I had to look hard at myself for the rest, and it wasn’t pretty,” Harry told him, carding his fingers softly through Bob’s hair. “If you think I couldn’t have any idea why you did that to Winifride, just remember my dad, and the mother I never knew because of Justin Morningway. Nobody knows what was in my heart that night but me – and I’ll tell you now, Bob – I wanted to kill him. A technical accident it might have been, but if that hadn’t happened, I would have tried my hardest to kill him with my bare hands,” Harry sighed. “I tell everyone it was an accident because I want so badly to believe it - and it was, at that moment in time. The more I tell it, the more I convince myself. But ten minutes later? I know what I would have done, Bob, and I have to live with that. Grief and rage can literally make you crazy. Believe me, I know.

“They’re all gone, Bob – Robin, and Hrothbert, Father Ranald, Gervase, and Winifride. Nothing can bring them back. You’re alive now, and you can’t live in the past forever. You can’t punish yourself forever, either,” Harry told him. “You’ve been punished your entire life – you were punished before you ever did anything wrong. You’ve paid for your sins. You don’t have to pay forever. Now you get to live a good life. Let them rest in peace, Bob, and come home to me,” Harry begged, hoping it was enough.

No sound came from Bob for a moment, and then Harry both heard and felt a strangled cry. “Come here. Come here, love,” he urged. Weak in his grief, Bob stumbled to his feet and collapsed into Harry’s lap. Harry hugged him close. The dam broke, and Bob began to cry – loud, painful, wracking sobs that shook his body; anguished weeping he didn’t try to stop, and neither did Harry. Tears for all of them – the mother he never knew, those who had been kind to him, those who had loved him, and finally, even the one whose evil had destroyed him. He cried until he gasped for breath, and then, although more quietly, he cried still. The festering sore of his life had been lanced and the grief flowed freely from his wounds. He hiccoughed and choked and snuffled for a long time, until he at last lay quiet in Harry’s arms.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked softly. Bob nodded. “I think you need to lie down, and I know I do. Come on, I want to get you comfortable and then me comfortable. Okay?” He nodded again.

Harry rose, holding onto Bob, and guided him to the bed. Gently, he undressed him and covered him with the duvet. Then he stripped out of his own clothes, went into the bathroom and wiped as much of the dust and horse sweat from himself as he could, slipped on a robe, and went back into the bedroom with a wet cloth.

He washed Bob tenderly, cooling the swollen, tear-stained face with the cloth. This was followed by soft kisses, and wrapping him snuggly in his robe. When he was done, he pulled the duvet over both of them, coaxing Bob into the circle of his arms.

“No more tears,” Harry murmured in his ear, “and no more regrets. Just living and loving each other, the best we can manage,” he breathed against Bob’s collarbone, tracing it with his fingertips. “Sound good to you?” he asked.

Bob turned and buried himself against Harry with a soft cry, and a muffled “yes.” He did that spider web thing again, tangling himself around Harry, who sighed a contented sigh.

Against all the odds, they’d made it.


	9. Chapter 9

“We should go see Tessa today,” Harry announced.  “She’ll  wonder what’s been going on. And Emma – well I think Emma will be pissed, but she’ll forgive us,” he smiled, twining his fingers with Bob’s.

“Things we should do. Things we might do. I wish we could spend all day in this bed and never move from here,” Bob sighed.

“We could,” Harry mused. “We can do anything we want to. We have all the time in the world,” he reminded Bob with a smile.

“As long as we’re wishing things,” he continued, mouthing Bob’s shoulder softly, “I wish I could hold you, and kiss you, and just...touch you, without end. Feel you in my arms, solid and warm and real.” His eyes, staring into Bob’s, were full of love and wonder.

“Harry.” The whisper said everything.

Bob moved to lie over him, head resting beneath Harry’s chin. His warmth and sweet weight were like a blanket of comfort against the chill of the world. So good, Harry thought, smoothing his hands down Bob’s hips where they fit over his. Maybe Bob had the right idea about staying here all day. There was plenty of time. After all, it wasn’t dawn yet. He happily drifted back to sleep.

Once the sun was well up, however, they both found that they bubbled with sufficient energy and high spirits that staying in bed – even boinking each other into the floor all day – wouldn’t have been the answer. Still, today would be a good day, whatever they did. As a concession to their lazy stirrings of lust they showered together until the water ran cold, then toweled each other dry, and in a twist which had them both laughing so hard they couldn’t finish, they attempted to dress each other.

Neither having eaten since the previous afternoon, they were both up for a hearty breakfast, and a walk outside of town and back before the shops began to open. A merchant or two nodded at them and smiled, or waved. They’d been staying long enough now to almost be part of the scenery.

When they opened the door to the antique shop, low voices came from the back of the room, stilling at the sound of the bell. Emma whuffled peevishly, sniffing both of them from head to toe. Satisfied, she returned to her spot under the George III card table.

Tessa’s head peeked out from the back, and when she saw who it was she came into the shop with a smile. Another woman followed her, reluctantly.

“Hullo! I was getting a bit worried about you two.”

“Everything’s fine,” Harry assured her. She looked at Bob.

“Yes, I can see that. I’m so glad,” she smiled. “I was afraid that Emma wasn’t going to have her two dads after all.”

Bob’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say, so he just smiled and gave a little shrug of pleased accession.

“How are you getting on?” he asked.

Shyly, Tessa pushed the other young woman out from behind her.

“This is Caroline, my – well – my partner now, I suppose you’d say,” she smiled, giving the woman a hug, “and I don’t just mean in the business,” she added, in case they’d missed her meaning. ‘We’ve made up.”

“I’m very glad, Tessa. Hello, Caroline.” Bob held out his hand for hers, took it and kissed it lightly. Harry grinned to himself. The Bainbridge charm really did work on everyone.

“Hullo.” The girl smiled shyly. She looked, Harry thought, wary and wounded. Someone like Tessa would be great for her.

“Hi.”

“We weren’t home for Emma the other night because...well, because Caroline drove up from London, and...” Tessa stumbled, with a grin.

“No explanations necessary,” Harry assured her. “Been there. Done that.” He nudged Bob, who rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“If I go back to London, would the two of you want to take Emma home with you – back to America?” Tessa asked anxiously.

“I don’t think Emma would let us do anything else,” Harry laughed. “She’s definitely part of the family. Just like Nana, in Peter Pan.” Bob raised an eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with the reference. “I’ll explain later,” Harry chuckled. “Trust me.”

“What will you do with the shop?” Bob asked.

“There’s a dear woman here in town, I’ve known her since I was a little girl. She was a friend of Uncle Ted as well. If I ask her, she’ll manage it for me until I decide...we decide, if we should keep it or throw everything into my studies,” Tessa sighed. “Typical starving actress. But we can’t be starving for too long, it wouldn’t be fair,” she admitted with a fond look at Caroline.

“I told you – we’ll manage,” Caroline replied, her eyes shining.

“I’m sure of it,” Bob told them warmly.

Once they’d left the shop, Harry suggested they take a drive. He was suddenly quiet, and that put Bob a little on edge. Yet Harry didn’t seem unhappy, so he tried not to let it bother him. He was too happy and too relieved to let much of anything really upset him today.

Harry drove to a high point on the dale, looking down on ‘Gervase’s wood’ in the distance. After shutting off the engine he turned to Bob. It looked as if he was going to speak, but then he didn’t; instead, he took both of Bob’s hands in his own and simply held them.

“Harry? Is anything wrong?” Bob finally asked, puzzled. He was relieved when Harry shook his head with a smile.

“No, nothing’s wrong at all. I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never done this before,” he sighed.

“Done what, exactly?” Bob tilted his head to regard Harry affectionately.

“Asked someone to marry me.”

Bob’s eyes grew huge. “Marry...you?”

Harry thought his mouth trembled slightly. Dear man!

“Civil partnerships for same-sex couples are legal in England, and they also perform a lot of commitment ceremonies,” Harry explained. “We’d have legal status here as a couple. But the ceremony, that’s the best part. That’s where I get to tell you what you mean to me, and how much I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, Robert Bainbridge.” Harry’s eyes had filled, and it was hard to get the last part out. He searched Bob’s face nervously.

“Oh...Harry!” Bob whispered. “That you would want to do such a thing! My God. Harry, Harry,” he gasped, grabbing him in a fierce, breath-squishing hug, so Harry wouldn’t see the moisture in his eyes.

“My love.” His deep voice quavered with emotion. “To stand up with you in front of others and declare my love without fear – to shout it from the battlements!” Bob smiled, pulling back enough bestow a tender, breath-stealing kiss. He could feel Harry literally melt in his arms, becoming boneless. When both had to come up for air, Harry lay his head on Bob’s shoulder.

“I’ve been afraid for such a long time,” he whispered. “Afraid I’d lost you and I’d never get you back. Afraid you didn’t feel about me the way I feel about you. Afraid you’d say no when I asked you, or laugh at me.

“I’m just tired of being afraid,” he admitted. “I need you so much it scares me. When you’re not okay, I feel like I’m drowning. It sucked being the strong one when I just wanted to crawl inside you and have you tell me, like you always have, that everything would be okay. I was afraid things would never be okay again,” he whispered. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m the one who said no more tears, and I’m making an ass of myself.”

He would have pulled away after that, but Bob held on. He could feel Harry’s heart pounding against his chest. He winced at the pain in Harry’s emotional confession.

“You most certainly are not,” Bob assured him. “You are feeding my soul with every word. I’m sorry I’ve put you through all of this, my warrior heart. You have taught me so much – more, Harry, than I could ever have taught you. Don’t shake your head at me, it’s true,” he smiled, stroking the nape of Harry’s neck.

“To know there is someone who will always be there for me is a special gift. You are a very special gift. I happily ache with love for you, my Harry,” Bob choked, “and I hope to go on doing so as long as the Gods allow us. I will love you, and yes I will marry you, of course.”

“Wow - I love the way you say yes,” Harry murmured against his shoulder. With Bob’s strong arms around him, for the first time in months Harry actually believed everything would be all right.

 

                                                                        ***

 

That evening after dinner, the two of them lying together on pillows in front of the fireplace, Harry related the plans he’d made. He was back to nervous again, unsure how Bob would take to what he had in mind.

“There’s a wonderful hotel not too far from here. It used to be a big manor or a small castle I guess – maybe something like yours, I hope. They’ve made it a luxury hotel – pulled out all the stops. We’ve got the...uh, well, it’s pretty much the honeymoon suite,” Harry told Bob. “We can move our things tomorrow, if you want. Or if you don’t want to, that’s okay too,” he added. “They could, uh, host our ceremony on Sunday afternoon, if that’s okay. But if you have any ideas, anything you’d like to do instead - ”

“You’ve made all these plans?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, I have, but if you want to change anything, or not go there, or - ”

“Just how long ago did you make them?”

“Um...before we left home. When you were in the hospital,” Harry admitted. “I’m sorry, I - ”

“Before we’d even left Chicago? My heart, stop apologizing.” Bob shook his head, chiding gently. “That you were thinking about it as long ago as that, when I was putting you through all kinds of hell and abusing you horribly – that you wanted to join with me even then - is the dearest thing I can imagine. The power of your belief in me...in us...takes my breath away. I bow entirely to your plans. I’m sure they will be more than I could dream of, made with such love.” He smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

It wouldn’t be entirely correct to say that Harry just lay back and accepted the kiss – he was an enthusiastic participant – but he was content for Bob to be making the moves. He was in need of wooing as well as reassurance, even if he wouldn’t have put it that way or been able to explain the feeling. Bob, however, understood this and was quite happy to oblige.

It was an oddly chaste courtship. There were kisses – sometimes desperate and sharp with want, but most deeply tender, aiming to communicate without words that which both were shy of voicing. It was a most intimate expression of love. There were caresses too, but they were more like those they’d shared in the first hours after Bob had become corporeal, when each desperately wanted the other to understand how much they were cherished as well as desired.  Now there was to be a formal joining, they were just a little shy as husband to husband.

 

                                                                             ***

 

The next morning they checked out of the Rose and Crown. Before they left Bainbridge they stopped at the shop and asked Tessa and Caroline to be their witnesses, and for Emma to be Best Dog. All were delighted to accept.

The new hotel was between Bainbridge and York, passing through some very beautiful country. Harry noticed that Bob positively drank in the views, so he stopped several times along the way to give him plenty of time to enjoy the scenery.

Their first view of Warbury Abbey from its long drive was impressive. The oldest part of the building had not yet been erected during Bob’s lifetime, though it dated from very shortly thereafter. The weathered, ivy-covered gray and cream stone certainly gave a feeling of permanence and age. There was even a four-story tower that made Bob smile.

They signed the register, both gawking, though Bob more discretely, at their surroundings. Luxury hotel was definitely not an exaggeration. They were taken up a stone stairway that led into the tower.

Once the bellman was gone, they stood in the middle of the bedroom, turning in a circle, staring. The centerpiece of the room was a huge canopied, four-poster bed carved of dark wood. It was set high enough off the floor that some guests would literally have to climb up into it. There was even a footstool for the purpose. The bedcover and hangings were a dark, rich green patterned with gold thread. A large fireplace with a stone hearth and mantel, blackened with the smoke of centuries, was situated opposite the bed. The style of furnishings and decor was 16th century, the look rich but not gaudy.

“Gods, the bed!” Harry gasped, grinning.

“Indeed.”

The expression Bob wore as he gazed at Harry wiped the grin off his face and caused both his eyes and his nostrils to dilate, and his face to redden. He wondered if the fireplace was lit and he hadn’t realized it. He sat down on the bed and Bob moved to him, pressing Harry’s head to his chest, mussing his hair, caressing his head and shoulders. Harry groaned and leaned into him, his arms going around Bob’s waist.

“I was hoping it would make Hrothbert feel at home,” he murmured, “and that he’d...want to come out and play,” he admitted shyly.

“He’s very much at home here, and he will make himself known if it would please you, sweeting.”

“Ohyeah.” Harry rubbed his cheek and butted his head against Bob like a cat. Bob’s fingers cradled him more gently now.

“Shall we see the rest of the suite?” he asked.

“Mmmm. Yeh,” Harry sighed, lifting his eyes to Bob’s and standing.

Their unadmitted, self-imposed celibacy was difficult but mutually consenting...and both were starting to more than look forward to Sunday night.

The bathroom was on the floor above, up a narrow circular staircase. It held a very large, deep Victorian tub with a shower, just perfect for two.

“I don’t know about you, but I plan on staying really clean,” Harry breathed.

“And one must do one’s part, so I think we should share the water, don’t you?” Bob’s voice was low and sexy, and it was driving Harry mad.

“Ngggg, have to get out of here,” Harry whimpered. “Lunch. Walk. Spa...anything.” He pretty much fled the bathroom, and when Bob descended the stairs he was sitting at the table having a glass of port.

“This,” Bob indicated both rooms, “is incredible. Beyond anything I could have imagined. Thank you,” he smiled fondly, pouring himself a glass.

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry told him, covering Bob’s hand with his. “And you deserve it.”

It would have been nice to have lunch in the room alone, but by unspoken agreement they didn’t want to risk it. The food, and the ambiance in the restaurant, were as pleasing as their suite, and Harry enjoyed walking the grounds afterward, happy that Bob was enjoying himself lost in time again, no longer sad.

Later that evening they lounged in front of a cheerfully crackling fire, though not together on the rug, for that would be entirely too dangerous.

“Bob? About the ceremony – there are usually, um...vows, and exchange of tokens like rings, and uh...stuff like that. It isn’t formal, you can say whatever you want. How you feel...you know.” Harry stumbled, and Bob loved him for that, and for a thousand other reasons.

“And you have something planned, for your part?” he asked.

“Yeh. Mostly other people’s words, and...some of mine. I’m not very good at talking about how I feel,” Harry sighed. Bob chortled at that.

“Well you’ve certainly impressed me,” he smiled. Taking Harry’s hand he kissed it, lingering.

“Bob!” He gasped at the intimacy. “You can’t keep doing that, or....”

“I know,” Bob squeezed his hand, curling the fingers back ground his glass.

“I shall have to give these vows of yours some thought.”

“We have tomorrow free, and I have to go into York to get something. We could walk around the city, and I read that the...what do you call it, the...Minster?...is having a medieval carol service. I thought maybe you might want to go...or not,” Harry hurried to add. “I don’t know how you feel about religion, and churches, I guess.”

“I’m not entirely sure myself,” Bob admitted. “When I was...before, I had little use for the Church and it certainly wanted to be rid of me. Yet it was part of my life, and when I was young and had Father Ranald to guide me, I had good feelings about being in church. Peaceful, it was. And in my youth, Christmas-tide was a time of excitement. I would not mind going to this service. Thank you for suggesting it. It will be a good place to gather my thoughts.” He knew very well that Harry hadn’t just ‘happened’ to find out about this event. The pains he had gone to in order to please him touched Bob deeply. He knew that he, himself, was not very often thoughtful, and he resolved to be more so for Harry’s sake.

 

                                                                        ***

 

The day was crisp and cold, with a couple of inches of snow on the ground and brilliant blue sky overhead. Harry didn’t know who was more excited to see York, he or Bob. Although Bob had never been to the city, its age charmed and comforted him. They walked a lot, neither tired and both wanting to see what was around the next corner. They browsed in street markets and had a pub lunch, holding hands under the table, Bob’s grip strong and happy. They wended their way close to the Minster.

“The service starts in a couple of hours. I have some, uh, things I have to take care of,” Harry blushed. “I’ll meet you inside, so save me a seat,” he told Bob, “if you’re still sure you want to go. You can change your mind, you know.” Bob shook his head and smiled.

“I do want to go. Off with you and your errands. A little quiet will do me good.”

It seemed odd to be in a cathedral after centuries of banishment, but only for a few minutes. There was more that was familiar and comfortable than not. The wooden pews – not ancient, but he could close his eyes and imagine it so; the stone floor, worn over many centuries. The smell of wax and incense. Yes, this would be an excellent place to think on how much he loved Harry and how best to tell him so.

Not knowing the city, Harry hailed a cab and went off to his destination, still unsure upon having taken care of business whether he’d done something good or something stupid. He was on firmer footing at the jeweler’s, pleased with himself as he picked up the ring.

Heading back to the cathedral, Harry wondered if Bob would rather be alone. On the other hand, he might have decided he wanted to leave after all. So, since the jeweler’s was within sight of the cathedral’s tower, Harry made his way back.

The service had started, so he slipped in silently next to Bob, who greeted him with a smile. Not wanting to leave, or be alone, then. Harry smiled back.

At the music of the first carol sounding on the period instruments, Bob sat up. As it continued and the choir began to sing, so did Bob – softly at first, but then his voice soared in remembrance.

Gaudete, gaudete, Christus est natus,  
Ex Maria virgine gaudete.  
Gaudete, gaudete, Christus est natus,  
Ex Maria virgine gaudete.  
Tempus ad et gratiae hoc quod optabamus,

Carmina laetitiae devote redamus.  
Gaudete, gaudete, Christus est natus,  
Ex Maria virgine gaudete  
Gaudete, gaudete, Christus est natus,  
Ex Maria virgine gaudete.

Harry was stunned. Bob didn’t have a nice voice, or a good voice, or even a great voice – he had an amazing voice. So beautiful, the way it soared and dipped, caressing the words. Harry closed his eyes, shivering at its beauty.

Throughout the service, carol after carol, Bob’s voice soared joyously.

Personent hodie,  
Voces puerulae,  
Laudantes iucunde  
Qui nobis est natus,  
Summo Deo datus,  
Et de virgineo  
Ventre procreatus.

Harry found something strangely sexy, or at least very masculine, about one. He fantasized about Bob singing it just for him.

Riu, riu, chiu  
La guarda ribera   
Dios guarde el lobo   
De nuestra cordera.  
El lobo rabioso la quiso morder,  
Mas Dios poderoso la supo defender;  
Quisole hazer que no pudiesse pecar,  
Ni aun original esta Virgen no tuviera.  
Riu, riu, chiu.

He watched Bob singing, lost in memories. Several emotions bubbled up – awe at the stunning voice, joy that Bob was happy, and fierce love.  At the end of the service he turned to Bob.

“Your voice.... Hasn’t anyone ever told you how incredible it is? How beautiful?” Harry managed to get out.

“My voice? No, no one has. But then, I didn’t sing often,” Bob sighed.

“So beautiful. Like a bird, soaring.” Harry tried to explain.  “And you were happy. Promise you’ll sing to me – just to me – again,” he begged.

“You have only to ask, my love. Love songs, lullabies...heralds of Christmas-tide. Anything at all, for you,” Bob assured him, mystified at the display of emotion when he’d only been singing, after all. It’s not as if one could really hear one’s own voice.

Harry was decidedly snuggly for the rest of the afternoon and evening; cuddly and pensive, yet with a ready smile whenever Bob spoke to him. They went to bed late, both a little afraid to get under the covers together.  It was a kind of hormonal Russian roulette and they were enjoying it in a kinky sort of way. Mostly.

The next day they shared a morning at the spa and another walk through the park-like hotel grounds. They were having dinner with Tessa and Caroline that evening. The partnership registration and commitment ceremony were scheduled for the following afternoon at 3 p.m., followed by a short reception. Harry thought about who he ideally wanted at the ceremony, if he could have anyone. Not more than could be counted on one hand. Whether he might have wanted Murphy there, he knew that she shouldn’t be, for Bob’s sake. This was their time, a time they would never have again, and although he loved Murph and knew she’d be shocked and hurt at their announcement when they came home, it was better this way. A thought ran briefly through his head that it would be cool if Morgan was there, but he laughed at himself for thinking it. Not likely.

“We’re going to dress in separate rooms,” he told Bob. “You know, the old ‘mustn’t see each other before the wedding’ thing. I – I chose your clothes. I hope you don’t mind, and if you hate the idea ..."

“Harry, I told you,” Bob chided affectionately, “I’m very happy to do as you wish. I’m enjoying your surprises,” he assured him. “Are we going to sleep apart as well?”

“No,” Harry answered quickly. “No, please. I don’t want to even think about that.”

“We could spend some time thinking about tomorrow night,” Bob teased.

“You like to make me crazy, don’t you?”

“You need me to answer that?”

And so the evening passed. There came a time, however, once they were in bed and the lights were out, that each was left to his own thoughts – fear, insecurity, joy...relief, and others more pleasant, as they lay in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re the singing - Terrence Mann has an absolutely spine-tingling Broadwaylicious voice, for those who might not know. Those particular carols are favorites of mine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a mushy wallow. You have been warned.

  
It’s my wedding day, Harry mused as he woke slowly. Our wedding day. I never thought I’d be doing this, with anyone. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life. Nervous, yeah, but I want this so much more than any nerves could stop it. I’m only nervous because it matters so much.

He moved carefully to lie on his side so he could watch Bob sleep. Most of the lines of care that had been a part of him for so long were already fading. There was a peace in his face now that caught Harry’s breath when Bob smiled at him or joked, or just sat with him. He was able to simply be himself, to explore who he was and enjoy it. If he hadn’t accomplished anything else for Bob, Harry reflected, that was something he could be proud of.

Bob had known so much pain and sadness. More than anything, Harry wanted to give him a normal life, a life that included silliness and laughter, having fights and making up in bed, working and playing together...all the good things that life had to offer for two people who loved each other. He wanted to spoil Bob, to surprise him with presents. He wanted to make him feel loved.

_I’m lying beside the one I shall marry. The one I will spend the rest of my life with. I once thought Gervase would be the only love I would ever have. I’ve never been happier to be wrong. It’s true, as I’ve told him, that the years and Harry have taught me things I would not have thought I had to be taught. What I needed was to learn humility; that I am not omnipotent, however much I wish I could be. Losing my illusions, but gaining the most powerful love I could imagine; it seems a happy trade. I needn’t be all-powerful and all-knowing, for Harry is stronger than I will ever be. He allows me to need, and he will be there to meet those needs. Is there a better, truer love than that? I think not._

“Good morning,” Bob rumbled softly in Harry’s ear, leaning over for a lazy morning kiss and a nuzzle.

“Ex-cellent,” Harry agreed, tracing Bob’s lower lip with a fingertip. He grinned as Bob made a move to capture the digit in his mouth, and moved his hand away.

“Lots to do,” he sighed, at the same time rolling against Bob, whose arms went quickly around him.

“Mmm. Lots,” Bob agreed.

“Love you.” The words were whispered against his collarbone.

“And I you.” He stroked Harry’s shoulder lightly with his fingertips.

They broke their fast in front of the fireplace, eating slowly, not wanting the meal to end. It was easy to think that things couldn’t get any better than this, but the gleam of anticipation in their eyes as they looked at each other across the table belied the thought. Harry fed Bob a piece of toast smeared with jam and found his finger being sucked...and not just to retrieve the errant bit of jam.

“We can’t - ” Harry began with a groan. He shook his head, smiling at Bob. “Are we nuts? We can, but we...won’t?” he ventured with the hint of a question. Bob tsk’d, holding back a smile.

“Bad luck on the wedding day.” He shook his head. “Good for the honeymoon.”

“You’re in fine form today,” Harry laughed, once again withdrawing his finger from Bob’s mouth, caressing his jaw.

“I must keep up with you. We shall see, won’t we?” Bob challenged.

He gave Harry one of Those looks, and he shivered. If he didn’t get out of here pretty soon, he wasn’t going to give a damn about the bad luck. As far as he was concerned, the honeymoon could start right now.

There was a knock on the door, and Harry went to answer it. He returned with Emma, and a note attached to her collar explaining that she was restless and clearly wanted to see what was up with her dads.

“Her charges, more like,” Harry laughed, giving the dog a hearty thump. “I’m going to go my room now. You can call me at this number,” he told Bob, indicating a piece of paper by the phone. Someone will come to get you and take you to the library for the ceremony. You’ll have Emma to help you dress, apparently,” he grinned.

“When you go – I might allow myself some nerves,” Bob admitted, suddenly looking a bit lost.

“Just don’t allow them to stop you,” Harry told him. He pulled Bob into his arms for a serious hug, and then he was gone.

Bob got down on the floor to stroke Emma. He laid his head against her warm back.

“I don’t know what to make of you, girl. Have you come back to look after me, after all these years? ‘tis a good feeling, having you and Harry to protect me. But Harry’s the one who really needs looking after, Em. You must protect him for me. Will you do that?” he asked softly. The dog’s response was a soft whine, and a whuffled bark.

“Thank you,” Bob chuckled, giving her ears a scratch. He sat on the floor for several minutes, thinking about the day and its significance, and what he must try to tell Harry about what their love meant to him, wondering whether he could put it into words.

Later, he got up to soak in the large, free-standing tub, thinking about sharing a bath with Harry. Thinking about fucking in the tub. On the hearth. In the bed. The heat that rose from the tub wasn’t just coming from the bath water.

He checked the time, and moved to open the two boxes of clothes Harry had left for him. He’d had to promise he wouldn’t open them until Harry was gone, but nerves and his curiosity now got the better of him. There was an envelope inside with his name on it in Harry’s handwriting. This he set carefully aside.

He pulled out the first item, and gasped. What had Harry done? A shirt of the finest ivory linen. That, he would enjoy. Natural fabric was so much more comfortable than much of the man-made material used in the 21st century. There were blue hose of fine wool – but this was a modern fabric that stretched, so he wouldn’t have to be sewn into them. He doubted either he or Harry would have appreciated that, later tonight.

His hands shaking, Bob held up a padded velvet and silk gown. It was a rich dark blue shot with diamond-shaped inserts of pale green. Though he paid little attention to that sort of thing, even Bob knew the green matched the color of his eyes. Real fur trimmed the sleeves and neck. He felt breathless. In the other box, a thinner velvet doublet of a darker green was found, to wear beneath the gown. There was a belt and leather pouch, soft leather shoes, and amazingly, a hat of the same dark blue as the gown, also in velvet. It was a real chaperone, full and complex, proclaiming the status of its wearer. A silver brooch was pinned to the hat. He wondered if he could remember how to arrange it, then noticed that it was stitched in strategic places so that it could not be taken apart. Another modern compromise, but it was just as well, he thought, or it might take him hours to dress. A large antiqued chain to be worn over the collar of the gown completed the ensemble.

Bob sat on the bed holding the gown, calming himself by stroking the fine velvet. His eyes were beginning to fill. Oh Harry! He reached over and opened the envelope, drawing out the sheet of paper.

_Love, I don’t know how you will feel about these clothes. In choosing them, I wanted to remind you of the position you held in the world, that you were and are a man of learning and importance who appreciates the finer things. You’ve got class, Bob, and I wanted the world to see that._

_But if you think it’s a stupid idea and you just want to wear your suit, I’ll understand. What you wear isn’t important, I just want you to be with me, forever. Hrothbert, Lord of Bainbridge, I summon thee one last time, to spend thy life with me._

_I love thee dearly._

_Harry_

He dialed the number Harry had left with trembling fingers.

“Bob?”

“They’re exquisite, Harry. Perfect,” Bob sighed, his voice thick with emotion. “And your note – dear love, when is three o’clock? ‘tis twenty years til’ then’, as Juliet says.”

“I’m glad you like them. I was thinking that maybe we could keep them, and, um, sometime, you could...”

Laughter triumphed at that. “Yes Harry, of course,” he chuckled.

“I miss you.”

Harry’s voice sounded much like the lonely adolescent that against his will he’d come to love with his whole heart, so many years ago. The heart he’d thought he no longer had.

“And I you. Courage, mon amour,” Bob told him softly before hanging up the phone.

Harry was pleased that his gamble had been a success. He was anxious to see Bob in the rich raiment, but far less anxious to appear in public in the clothes he’d picked out for himself - black hose, a crimson shirt and a black leather doublet slashed with red silk, and black leather shoes. He’d tried various hats, but in the end he’d felt like an idiot in all of them, so decided not to attempt it. His clothes were meant to be simpler than Bob’s anyway. At least Tessa and Caroline were used to seeing people in stage wardrobe, he told himself.

There was a tiny, panic-driven doubt in the back of Harry’s mind. What if Bob didn’t really want to do this? What if Bob felt he owed it to him? Maybe Bob didn’t love him as desperately, as completely, as he loved Bob. He had no good reason for this doubt other than knowing how possessive, obsessive and complete his love was, and doubting that any sane person could feel the same, especially about him. Bob had always tried to boost his self-confidence, but just as often Justin managed to undermine it anyway.

Maybe he should have been happy simply to have Bob back again. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked for this so soon. Something had told him they should live the fairy tale while they were still in a different world, before they returned to Chicago – but what if he’d been wrong? The scare in the hospital had badly undermined his belief that he knew what was best for Bob. He wasn’t sure, even now, if he would have brought Bob to Bainbridge if Morgan hadn’t encouraged it. Yeah, he’d thought of it, but he’d also felt it could have been the biggest mistake of all, and he hadn’t wanted to risk hurting Bob any more.

The carefully prepared words he wanted to say to Bob were swirling around in his head, ready to disappear. His palms were sweating like crazy, and his heart was beating way too fast. The phone rang.

It was the front desk. The celebrant of the ceremony had arrived, and wanted to meet him. He glanced at the clock – 2:37 p.m. He felt dizzy as he searched in his leather pouch for the ring. Clamping down on his fear, he closed the door and made his way to the library.

Tessa and Caroline were there. Emma sat politely beside them, a thick ruff of flowers about her neck. Her tail began to wag when she spotted Harry. He sought out the celebrant, who was, to his surprise, a tall woman in her mid-30s with dark hair and a gentle smile. She seemed absolutely delighted at the idea of Emma being Best Dog, and voiced her approval of Harry’s garb, after which he breathed a small sigh of relief and tried to concentrate on slowing his heartbeat. Since he wanted to say to Bob what was in his heart, he had asked for someone to officiate who wouldn’t refuse to let him say whatever he wanted. Church of England representatives, he’d learned, were fairly picky on that point.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry thought he saw the door open and expected Bob to enter, but when he looked back again there was no Bob, and no one else either. Well...maybe someone had just opened the door, saw they were in the wrong place, and left. That must be it.

The only light in the room was candlelight. There were several candelabras at the front of the room, and large, thick beeswax candles on stands around the room. This had an additional calming effect on Harry, who was still trying to remember his vows.

At precisely three o’clock, the door opened again and Bob stepped inside. Harry thought he looked magnificent – and hot. Every inch the proud lord, even in that weird hat, which he had somehow managed to make sexy. Emma barked softly and her tail began to wag like mad.

When their eyes met, standing in front of the celebrant, Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. Seeing the look in Bob’s eyes, his doubts vanished. There was as much love shining on him as he could ever desire. There was also the fact that he knew Bob was checking out his clothes and undressing him at the same time, and he was pretty much doing the same. Things were going to be okay after all.

As the celebrant welcomed everyone, Emma sat down between the two of them. The ‘official’ part of the ceremony then began.

“I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, may not register a civil partnership with Robert Bainbridge.” Bob repeated the words with the names reversed.

“I understand that on signing the Civil Partnership Schedule, that I, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, will be forming a civil partnership with Robert Bainbridge.” Bob’s voice shook slightly on his repetition.

“At this point in our celebration of these two people who wish to join their lives together,” the celebrant announced, “Harry and Robert have some things they wish to say to each other.” She nodded at Harry.

His heart in his throat, Harry began. His eyes never left Bob’s face.

“Bob. You have been my teacher, my friend, my guide and my conscience before you were my passion. I can’t separate any one of those things from my love for you, because you are everything to me. You are my food and drink, sun and moon, day and night. Without you I am nothing and have nothing. With you by my side I will conquer all fears, doubts and enemies.” Harry paused, and looked at Bob rather apologetically.

“At this point, I’m going to give you the words of a couple of guys who express what I feel about you a lot better than I can – Dan Fogelberg and John Denver, who wrote, among other things,

”Through the years as the fire starts to mellow  
Burning lines in the book of our lives  
Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow  
I’ll be in love with you.”

and

“Come let me love you  
Let me give my life to you  
Let me drown in your laughter  
Let me die in your arms  
Let me lay down beside you  
Let me always be with you  
Come let me love you  
Come love me again.”

  
“I hope their words, and the words of some guy named Coleridge, will help me to tell you what you mean to me.”

“And in life's noisiest hour,  
There whispers still the ceaseless love of Thee,  
The heart's self-solace and soliloquy.”

“I love you, Bob,” Harry finished softly. He knew he was crying, and he saw tears in Bob’s eyes.

“And I love you, Harry. You have vanquished my sorry past and given me a bright future,” Bob began. “You returned me to myself. You value me for who I am, and you will never know how precious that is to me. You have given me hope that peace, love and happiness are not solely the province of others. Your courage in the face of unknown dangers and your willingness to fight for my happiness has moved me more than I can ever tell you. Your ability to forgive leaves me in awe.

“I too must borrow the words of others to express my feelings about you – poets of far more skill than I.

“I wonder by my troth, what thou and I  
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then?   
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?   
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?  
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;  
If ever any beauty I did see,   
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,   
Which watch not one another out of fear;  
For love all love of other sights controls,  
And makes one little room an everywhere.  
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;  
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;  
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,   
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;  
Where can we find two better hemispheres   
Without sharp north, without declining west?  
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally;  
If our two loves be one, or thou and I   
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

“This fellow also speaks well.” Bob solemnly looked straight into Harry’s eyes, as if he had been privy to his previous worries.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
Doubt that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt I love."

Harry bit back a sob.

“And he speaks truly of love - ”

"So dear I love him that with him, all deaths I could endure. Without   
him, live no life."

“You are my greatest joy,” Bob finished softly.

There wasn’t, as the saying goes, a dry eye in the house. Harry could hear Tessa sniffing, and the celebrant’s kind eyes were moist. She indicated that they were to sign the Civil Partnership papers, which they did. When they had returned to their places, she asked:

“Harry, will you solemnly promise that you will always protect this man with your utmost care, that you will honour and cherish him in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, and that in all things you will be to him a faithful and loving partner.”

“I will.” Harry’s voice was strong and clear.

“Robert, will you solemnly promise that you will always protect this man with your utmost care, that you will honour and cherish him in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, and that in all things you will be to him a faithful and loving partner.

“I will.” Bob’s velvet voice caressed the onlookers as well as Harry.

“You may now exchange tokens of your vows to each other.”

Harry reached in his pouch and withdrew a heavy gold ring inscribed with black letters. He spoke the inscribed words softly to Bob as he placed the ring on his finger.

“You are the pulse of my heart,” followed by “with this ring, I thee wed, and with it, I bestow upon thee all the treasures of my mind, heart and hands.” He pressed the ring home on Bob’s finger.

For a moment, Bob could do nothing but stare at the token of love from all he held dear, grasping Harry’s hand tightly. He then reached in his own pouch, and pulled out the ruby ring.

It hit Harry then – the scent of the ring, and of the box, were the same as Bob’s sexy scent when he’d come out of the shower that day. He was almost dizzy with the scent of love. This had been Bob’s own ring, so many centuries ago. It was the one personal physical token of all that he had been through and all that they had shared to come this far.

Bob placed it on his finger, and spoke.

“I give thee this ring as a symbol of our love. With it I wed thee, and give thee my body, soul, and heart.”

It fit Harry as if it had been made for him, yet he knew Bob hadn’t had the opportunity to have it sized. It felt warm on his finger, as if it glowed with some inner fire.

“By virtue of signing the schedule in my presence as a Deputy Registrar of Civil Partnerships, and before the witnesses, I declare that you, Harry, and you, Robert, have now formed a Civil Partnership in accordance with the law. You may now kiss.”

They moved forward at the same instant, grasping each other like delicate crystal, and their lips met. Several seconds later, when he came to his senses, Harry felt that this kiss must be the single sweetest, most perfect moment in his life. His heart felt as if it would literally burst.

“I love you. I love you,” he repeated so softly that no one but Bob could hear.

“Husband,” Bob whispered back, eyes shining.

The congratulations and hugs from Tessa and Caroline were a happy blur. Both Bob and Harry knelt to thank Emma for her part in the ceremony, and Harry pulled a dog cookie out of his pouch and gave it to her. Bob’s eyes crinkled at this charming thoughtfulness, and he hugged Harry impulsively.

There was the cheerful pop of a champagne cork, and some heartfelt, exceedingly romantic toasts that pretty much passed in a blur of laughter and noise, because all Harry could think of now was being alone with Bob.

And there was – Morgan.

As soon as he saw the warden standing at the back of the small room, Harry realized it must have been Morgan he’d seen, or sensed, when the door opened earlier, before Bob had arrived. Morgan then done his usual fade-into-the-woodwork glamour, and no one had noticed him, not even Bob. Harry was thankful for that.

He was slightly apprehensive, but glad in a funny way. The happiness he was feeling wouldn’t have been possible without Morgan. He slipped an arm around Bob’s waist and turned him so that he could see Morgan. At the same time, he whispered urgently in Bob’s ear.

“Don’t freak, love. I don’t think his being here is bad news. He’s not our enemy any more, Bob, yours or mine. I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but he’s on our side. Don’t snark at him, please,” Harry begged. He could feel the tension in Bob as they approached Morgan.

“Warden Morgan,” Bob acknowledged warily.

“Bainbridge.” Morgan nodded. “Congratulations,” he murmured, including Harry.

“Thanks, Morgan. I’m...um...surprised to see you - but glad,” Harry stammered. “There isn’t anything um, wrong, is there? Back at Headquarters, y’know?” he joked feebly.

“Not when I left.”

“Um...other than just wanting to stop by and wish us well, was there anything - ”

“A proposal for Bainbridge.” Morgan withdrew a parchment from his jacket pocket and presented it to Bob, who unrolled it, still wary. As he read, his expression changed from uncertainty to apparent astonishment, and even pleasure.

“Bob – what is it?”

“An invitation – a provisional invitation with some stipulations, I might add – to join the Council,” Bob answered, shock apparent in his voice even though he tried to appear non-emotional. “On a trial basis.”

“Oh my God,” Harry whispered. He turned to the dark wizard.

“This has to be your doing, Morgan. Thanks,” he smiled.

“Such a thing could not be my decision alone, you know that,” he disagreed softly.

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have happened without you,” Harry insisted. “Thanks,” he repeated, grasping Morgan’s hand. It was warm.

“You’re welcome,” Morgan replied so softly that only Harry heard him.

“Will you join us for dinner?” Bob asked.

“Thank you, but I can’t stay. I’m in England on business for the Council and I must be in London early tomorrow morning. I brought the invitation with me because I thought there might be an opportune moment to leave it with you. I’m catching a train,” Morgan explained. “Again – congratulations,” he nodded, shaking both their hands before leaving quietly.

“Harry – how much has Morgan known of – of our personal life – of my life?” Bob asked, frowning.

“When you were in the hospital, I was scared to death. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid anything I did would make things worse. I needed some advice, and...I trust Morgan. I don’t know why, but even when I didn’t like him, I trusted him,” Harry explained. “I never told him everything, Bob, I swear. But he was on our side. I don’t know if I would have brought you here, without Morgan. I do know this invitation from the Council is because he put his weight behind it. He’s not our enemy any more, Bob, and I’m glad,” Harry explained.

“You know he has feelings for you?” Bob asked softly.

“Uh...yeah, I’m afraid he kind of does,” Harry admitted, “I guess.”

“And?”

“And what?” Harry shrugged. “I’d like to help him find...what we found. Nothing else,” he stated firmly. “How could you - ?”

“I just wanted to hear you tell me,” Bob sighed, his arm possessively encircling Harry. “And we need to talk about this, another time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry nodded, laying his head briefly on Bob’s shoulder. “Can we get out of here pretty soon?”

“You know we must be good hosts for a little while longer, but I imagine Tessa and Caroline will understand our desire to be alone together,” Bob smiled, tipping Harry’s head up for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob’s poets - John Donne and that Shakespeare guy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding night!

They had more champagne, endured toasts, and kisses from Emma, and liberally rewarded their celebrant before they begged leave and walked back to their room. A wonderful feast had been spread out on the table, as well as several more bottles of champagne on ice. The bedclothes were turned back. There was a fire, and the room was filled with candles at Harry’s instruction.

Bob made a point of locking the door, loudly. They both enjoyed the silence for a moment, and the sweet knowledge that they were alone, at last. Bob took off his hat and laid it in one of the boxes.

“You look so hot in those clothes,” Harry moaned.

“I might say the same about you. Leather definitely suits you.” Bob smiled.

Slowly, Harry walked towards him – and sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around Bob’s waist, pressing his face against the doublet.

“I love you so much it hurts. So much it scares me,” he admitted.

Bob smiled, stroking Harry’s hair gently. “I have the same wonderful fear.”

“The names you call me - the things you say to me – they make me feel loved,” Harry revealed. “My love – my husband - ” Harry smiled, “is Hrothbert of Bainbridge, a strong and powerful lord and sorcerer,” he smiled,” who loves me in return.”

“You finally believe that?” Bob asked softly, thanking the Gods.

“Yes.” Harry nodded, pressing his lips to Bob’s hand.

“I think it’s past time to launch our marriage bed, don’t you?”

“Yes, lord.”

The words were spoken so softly that Bob almost had to read the beautiful lips. He helped Harry to his feet and pushed him towards the bed. Taking off the heavy velvet coat and laying it on a chair, he slipped off his leather shoes. Standing close to the bed between Harry’s knees, he cupped the expectant face in his hands and leaned over for a possessive, lip-bruising kiss, their cheekbones and noses hard against each other. He captured and recaptured Harry’s mouth, stopping only when Harry gasped for breath, then diving back again for more. When Harry began to grab at him with the intent of pulling him down onto the bed, Bob pulled back, gazing hungrily at the flush in Harry’s cheeks and the dark stain of his swollen lips.

“Undress me,” he ordered.

Breathing hard, Harry nodded. He worked at the laces one at a time, fingers clumsy at the unfamiliar task. By the time he managed to free the garment, both he and Bob were groaning with frustration. Bob raised his arms impatiently and Harry pulled the shirt off.

Harry sighed, pressing his face against the warmth of Bob’s bared chest. Rubbing his fingertips through droplets of sweat that had pooled on Bob’s abdomen, he brought them to his nose and then with a little moan, to his lips. Bob shuddered at the erotic picture.

Catching a whiff of another scent, Harry stood. “You smell so good,” he whispered, nuzzling Bob’s neck, kissing down to the spot where arm and chest met, “tell me what it is.”

“Sandalwood,” Bob gasped, closing his eyes and shivering as Harry lifted his arm, lapping at the fine hair underneath. For a few moments, as Harry’s mouth and tongue bathed him intimately, he was paralyzed by waves of pleasure. There were no commands he was capable of giving, nothing he wanted more than exactly what Harry was doing – until Harry sat down again, and his hands moved to the waist of Bob’s hose and began to roll them down. He stopped at mid thigh, exposing cock and balls.

Hungrily, Harry licked and sucked at the delicate skin of Bob’s belly, nosing the curling gray silk above the base of his cock. He pulled Bob to him, squeezing his ass in both hands.

“My God Harry, I can’t stand up if you keep on - ”

“Mine,” Harry breathed, giving the shaft a long wet caress before he tipped his head and sucked Bob’s balls into his mouth. With a cry, Bob fell forward onto Harry, who grabbed him around the waist and hauled him onto the bed, diving between Bob’s legs to continue what he’d begun.

With the hose still around his thighs just above the knees, Bob was effectively helpless. He wasn’t sure quite when he’d stopped being in control, but he welcomed the pleasure he was being given with awed amazement. This wasn’t something his normally shy Harry had planned, he was just that much in thrall to his desire - for him.

“Need to taste you.”

Bob moaned softly. “Taste then, my treasure, but don’t take me too far. You wouldn’t want to spoil my plans for you now, would you?” he gasped, trying to regain some kind of self-control and not doing very well.

“Taste so good. Want to eat you,” was Harry’s reply. “Smell good. Smell like... Fuck,” he breathed, sucking Bob’s cock like it was a huge lollipop.

“Gods, Harry!” Bob groaned, not sure whether Harry meant he wanted to be fucked or that Harry wanted to fuck him and not caring which, because either would be heaven. At such words, Bob couldn’t do anything but let Harry have him; let Harry suck him hard, shivering with pleasure when a wet finger stroked over his opening. A part of him wished he could just close his eyes and let Harry go on, but he knew it was the selfish part of him. Being joined now as they were – as they would always be – the last thing Bob wanted was to be selfish, on this night of all nights.

“Harry,” he murmured against a warm earlobe, “you must stop now.”

“Not now,” Harry whined. “Wan’ you to come.”

“I know you do, love, and I share that desire, believe me, but there are some things I want for you, too,” Bob told him softly, “so finish undressing me.”

Reluctantly, Harry stopped and sat up. Bob felt so bereft that he almost changed his mind, keeping silent with difficulty. Harry pulled his hose all the way down and off, and as soon as he did so, Bob rose to his knees and straddled Harry, working on the laces of his doublet, making much shorter work of the same task than Harry had.

The linen shirt was plastered to Harry’s body, wet with sweat and difficult to get off, but Bob was determined that nothing would further delay the unwrapping of his special gift. Bunching the shirt in his hands, Bob brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Sliding it down his body, he wrapped it around his erection, rubbing and thrusting into his hand, before tossing it on the floor.

“You smell good, too,” Bob purred.

Harry bit his lip, groaning. His eyes were all huge black pupil.

Bob stretched Harry’s arms lightly above his head, indicating that he shouldn’t move them, and worked the hose down over his hips and thighs until they too were off. For once he didn’t want to make a production of the unwrapping, because Harry naked, now, was his earnest desire. He knelt for a moment, simply staring at the long, lean, utterly arousing body so different from his own.

“You are so very beautiful, every inch of you – and every inch of you belongs to me, does it not?”

Speechless, Harry nodded. Starting at his head, Bob’s hands moved slowly down his body, millimeter by millimeter, as if he was memorizing Harry by Braille. He mussed the spiky black hair. His thumbs smoothed lightly over Harry’s eyelids. Fingertips gently traced ears, nose, and lips. Warm palms cupped Harry’s face, then slid over his shoulders, thumbs stroking moist olive skin.

Bob’s mouth followed his hands in detail, kissing, licking and gnawing softly. Harry trembled like a leaf beneath him, staring up into his face. Faint sounds of pleasure escaped his lips. The hands moved down the insides of his arms, his ribs, and then onto his chest.

Bob fed on Harry’s quick, sharp gasps of pleasure as he teased and licked dark, flat nipples to rosy erection, his thumbs stroking firmly through the thick black swirls of sweat-soaked hair. Harry tossed his head, arching his back as Bob bit down softly on a nipple, stretching and then sucking it into his mouth, working it until it was swollen and aching. As he was treating the opposite nipple to the same regimen, Harry groaned loudly, thrashing beneath Bob’s hands, and Bob felt a sudden warmth on his thigh. Without warning, Harry had come. How very precious!

“Dammit,” Harry whispered weakly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bob smiled down at him. “That was lovely, my heart.”

He took Harry’s still half-hard cock in his mouth and gently sucked him dry, leaving soft faerie kisses on fur-covered balls and inner thighs, stroking gently, soothing. He gave soft licks to the insides of Harry’s knees, stroking all the way to his feet before sitting up slightly.

“Shall I fuck you then?” he asked softly.

Harry whimpered, weak with want.

Bob coated his fingers with the gift Harry had left him, slicking his cock before slipping a hand between Harry’s cheeks and a finger inside him, where he was instantly captured by the sweet furnace of his beloved's body.

“Are you ready for me?”

Harry made an unintelligible noise and managed to nod.

“I must see your face, sweet Harry.  I couldn’t bear it if I ever hurt you again,” Bob confessed, his first reference in months to the act that had started them on this journey.

“Need you inside me,” Harry rasped, reaching up to grasp Bob’s forearms. The hunger in his eyes as he spread his thighs and bent his knees in lustful invitation was blistering.

Momentarily frozen with the fear of hurting him in any way, Bob leaned down and captured Harry’s mouth in a pleading kiss, hoping to communicate that which there was no words left to say.

Infinitely slowly, shaking, he pressed himself inside Harry.

“All the way," Harry begged, pulling him down. “Don’t be afraid,” he comforted.

The last was too much for Bob. He thrust deep. Looking down, he saw both love and lust in the black eyes, encouraging him. He bent his head and began to tell Harry with his body how much he was loved and desired.

“That’s right - make me yours. I’m fucking yours, Bob,” Harry panted, stroking himself, “and nobody else’s, ever.”

Bob leaned down and wiped the sweat from his forehead, pressing his lips there.

“I think you can never know how much I love you, my Harry. I take joy in claiming you, but in truth I am your slave, dear boy.”

The faster his hips moved, the faster Harry’s hand did the same until Harry let go, grasping his hips and pulling him deep inside, growling and grunting with lust. The sounds filled Bob's soul. He felt and heard nothing but Harry wanting him so desperately. He could feel the explosion building deep in his belly, his balls drawing up sharply, almost painfully.

“Come in me now,” Harry begged.

And Bob did, helpless to resist the plea. Seconds later, Harry splashed against his belly. He pressed his body down on Harry's, needing to capture the precious fluid to his own skin. Harry reached around to keep him just where he was.

"Stay," he whispered, seeking Bob's mouth. "Wish you could stay inside me forever."

"My Harry," Bob murmured between kisses. He rested, content, until his back began to twinge. Withdrawing reluctantly, he lay back, drifting off with Harry's fingers combing softly through his hair.

 

                                                                             ***

 

When he came to himself unknown minutes later, Bob felt both relief and a bone-deep peace. Their abstinence had had a purpose, but it had also made them strangers in a way, and for him at least, breaking through that unexpected barrier had been unnerving. He had been surprised and touched at Harry’s deep need for him; it made him feel protective as much as it aroused him. He wished he could be sure that Harry knew how he felt in his heart. He was afraid he’d expressed it poorly by his body alone, and words were so often inadequate. Yet he was probably foolish to worry, since Harry always knew his heart. Always, he reminded himself.

He got up, still slightly out of breath, and went into the bathroom. He came back with two towels wrung out in hot water and tenderly cleaned a drowsy Harry, then himself. He maneuvered Harry’s long legs under the covers and slid in himself. Harry moved to curl against him, laying his head on Bob’s shoulder, an arm across his chest.

“Wow,” Harry laughed.

“That may be quite the understatement,” he returned, stroking Harry’s arm.

Harry laughed again, for no other reason than that he was happy.

“I think we deserve some champagne and goodies, don’t you?” he grinned.

“Indeed – but I find myself quite unable to get up again,” Bob sighed. “It seems, old man that I am, that I must ‘recharge my batteries’, as the saying goes.”

“Unable to get up again, or unable to get it up again?” Harry snickered.

“At the moment, it’s one and the same,” Bob mock-growled, sucking at Harry’s earlobe. “Actually, I could be starving, and just now I wouldn’t move in any case,” he admitted, giving Harry a squeeze.

“I know. Me either,” Harry sighed, snuggling unashamedly. “I have all the food I need right here.”

 

                                                                       ***

 

Later, when hunger got the best of them, they fed each other enormous strawberries imported out of season, pate and cheese, and champagne. Fortified, and well aware it was their wedding night, they went back to the big bed and remained suitably occupied for several more hours before they both slept, sated and exhausted.

When Harry woke, dawn light was just creeping across the sky. Even with the delightful Bob-furnace beside him, it was cold. Holding his breath, he jumped out of bed and dashed for the loo, cursing the icy tile floor. On the way back to bed, entirely too cold to do things the old-fashioned way, he flicked his wrist and started a fire. Happening to glance out the window, cold as he was, he stopped, spellbound.

It had snowed during the night, and the sun was coming up on a world of pristine, glistening white. A couple of hares loped across the grounds below the window. Harry imagined he could smell the crisp, clean air. He looked back towards the bed. He had to share this. And besides, they could warm each other up pretty quickly, Harry thought to himself, grinning.

He went back to the bed and without a word, scooped Bob up in his arms, duvet and all, and carried him to the window, just because he could.

“What are you doing?” came a sleepy mumble against his neck. Then, as the cold registered, “Harry!” My God it’s freezing! Put me down! What on earth - ?”

“Shhhhhh.” Harry stopped him. “Just take a look.” With a bit of effort, he settled the two of them in the wide window frame, wrapped in the duvet, his arms tight around Bob.

“Beautiful,” Bob whispered. “Thank you.”

“I had no idea what it was like here, where you lived,” Harry told him. “So different from the city. I’m thinking that when we get home, we should get out into the country every few weeks – take a long weekend, ride horses, enjoy the smog-free air – y’know?”

“I’d like that,” Bob acknowledged. “Sometimes I do feel a bit...claustrophobic,” he admitted. “And we deal with such ugliness. Escaping to a place where we can remember what life should be like is good. But how will we afford it? All of this – everything you’ve done for me – has cost a fortune. Harry, you haven’t mortgaged your soul, have you?” he asked, teasing.

“Don’t worry, love. Justin paid for it. And since we’re having this discussion, I think it’s fitting that he keep on paying for our recreation,” Harry chuckled, “since he would definitely Not Approve. You, Ghost, have been a very bad influence on me,” he murmured, mouthing the back of Bob’s neck as his hand moved between his legs.

“I certainly hope so, by Justin’s lights.” Bob wrinkled his nose dismissively, shifting to ensure that his cock met up with Harry’s hand.

“Fire’s been going a while now. ‘s warm. Wanna fuck you in front of that fire,” Harry whispered in his ear.

“You come up with such good ideas,” Bob groaned, thrusting himself further into Harry’s grasp.

“I like to give things my best shot.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Laughing, Harry swung their legs over the sill. He placed the duvet on the floor in front of the fireplace and then set about tossing every pillow in the suite on it. After he’d dropped the lube with an evil grin, he lay down, his back to the fire, and put a hand up to Bob.

“’c’mere, you,” he ordered, his voice low and husky.

“Yes, Harry.” Bob nodded, no longer joking. Dropping to his knees, he placed himself so his head was at Harry’s cock, and Harry was in the same position. For several minutes, there was no sound in the room but the crackling of the fire and the two of them enthusiastically arousing each other.

Stroking Bob’s hip, Harry nuzzled and then nipped the tender flesh.

“On your stomach,” he growled softly. Watching Bob’s eyes darken with passion, he became harder at the sight. Harry placed pillows beneath and around him, ensuring he would be comfortable. At first lying down beside Bob, he stroked his back and hips, fingers dipping occasionally between his cheeks to tease the eager bud. It opened easily, pulling at him.

“I love seeing how much your body wants me,” Harry sighed, “and watching your face when I do this,” he confessed, stroking in and out slowly, sinking deeper with each stroke.

A flush blossomed in Bob’s pale skin. His eyes were closed; his mouth was open, forming a faint “O” that breathed out with a huff of pleasure every time Harry entered him. Harry thought it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen, and he never got tired of it – just as he never tired of bringing Bob pleasure in all its forms.

He took it for granted that Bob could drive him crazy – Bob’s hands and mouth drove him insane with pleasure, and a still-frightening lust that Bob was always encouraging him not to try and control – but the idea that he really turned Bob on, that was newer to him. It pleased him of course, but it also slightly embarrassed him, and made him feel responsible for Bob in a new way; he could never hurt him, and Bob must always know he was loved and cherished. The Gods knew Bob was damn incredible at making him feel like that.

Harry withdrew his finger and moved to lie on his stomach behind Bob. He dropped kisses across Bob’s buttocks, then at the crease where leg meets cheek. He kissed above his entrance and below it, stroking with both his hands and his tongue, Bob’s gasps serving as encouragement. Pressing his tongue inside, he began to thrust, using his tongue as a little cock.

Clenching the duvet in his fist, Bob’s moan reverberated through his body.

Whenever Harry did this to him, he was helpless. There isn’t any part of you I don’t love, it said. Usually, it was exquisitely slow, and tender, and by the time Harry was done with him he could hardly breathe, he wanted Harry inside him so badly. This time, Harry clearly was of another mindset, literally fucking him with his tongue, the wet thrusts going deeper and harder inside him than he would have thought possible.

Literally seized with the pleasure of it, he thrust himself hard against the pillows, seeking stimulation. The tongue wriggled and he clenched around it, moaning and arching his back.

“Fuck me,” he gasped.

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Harry.” It wasn’t quite begging, he told himself.

By the time Harry withdrew, planting a soft kiss against his opening, his body was starving for its reward. He clenched involuntarily at the shocking coolness of the lube, spread, in direct counterpoint to the previous maneuvers, with a lazy tenderness. Harry could make this matter-of-fact act quite arousing when he chose – which was often, since he knew what it did to Bob.

“Hare-eee,” he pleaded.

“Hmmm?”

“Bastard.”

Harry’s soft, affectionate laughter floated over him and he groaned again in frustration. But in a moment, strong hands grasped his hips and he was firmly possessed, as he longed to be.

“Ohhhh.”

With Harry inside him, he felt complete; full. There was no room for unhappy memories, doubt, fear, or any negative thoughts. Not when he was being ridden like this!

When he’d been with Gervase, there’d been no question – he had always taken his younger lover. He hadn’t imagined letting anyone have him once he left Bartholomew. It required a trust he didn’t have of anyone, even Gervase – until Harry.

It had shocked him when he’d realized how much he wanted Harry to have him. He would have bet that Harry had no idea, but that was a long time ago in the scheme of things, and he hadn’t been willing to bet there was anything Harry didn’t know about him for quite a while now. What he remembered about that first time was how loved Harry made him feel.

“Aahh....Harry!” Bob gasped at the full force of Harry’s thrusts, deep and hot. He locked his arms around a pillow and held on, relaxing into the sweet pistoning. Giving himself to Harry, body and soul, he’d found such freedom.

“Love you.”

He thrust himself back against Harry at the words, concentrating on the firm softness of Harry’s balls bouncing against his ass, surrounded by the sounds and smells of sex. Once again he sought purchase in the pillows, his cock on fire. He was on the edge.

Harry’s weight shifted and he went deeper, seeking something – and finding it. Bob cried out, his body rocked with tremors as he came. Surrounded by Bob’s release, Harry’s rhythm increased, seeking his own.

Bob loved it when Harry used him this way after his own climax. Harry’s animal need bled into him, driven by pure lust. It was especially arousing to Bob since he knew that letting go like this hadn’t always been commonplace for Harry.

Recognizing the signs – the increased frequency of Harry’s gasps for air, the guttural sounds coming from deep in his throat, and the sudden uncoordinated frenzy of his thrusts – Bob clamped down firmly. Harry groaned and let go. The sensation, and Harry’s groans, made Bob half hard again.

Harry rested atop him, perfectly heavy. Bob could smell his sweat, mixed with their fluids. A sweet scent, indeed. Harry’s hand grasped his, holding on as he withdrew and rolled to his side, turning Bob to face him. He dropped soft kisses on forehead, nose and mouth, kneading the back of his neck and shoulder gently.

“Mine,” he breathed, with a smile.

Bob’s smile came in quick reply. “Yes,” he agreed, “yours.”

 

                                                                      ***

 

As cozy as they might have been wrapped up in the duvet in front of the fire, pillows or no pillows, the bed was a lot softer than the floor so they eventually returned to it, ordering breakfast. Bob knew how lazy Harry was in the kitchen, so it was a given that he would appreciate room service. Bob found the idea that they had nothing to worry about except acquiring food and making love, the former obtained almost instantaneously and without effort, quite attractive as well. Harry was rubbing off on him. He snorted aloud to suppress a giggle at the visual; Harry rubbing off on him was a lovely idea, come to think of it – one that he intended to encourage whenever possible.

They never seriously thought of going out, or even going downstairs. Between rounds of eating, loving and sleeping, it seemed to be a day of revelations. Snug within their bubble-world, they both felt able to express in words a little of what they had previously only been able to do with their bodies.

Lifting Bob’s hand, Harry pressed it to his face, kissing it softly, rubbing against it.

“When I lived at Justin’s, I used to wish I could touch you,” he revealed, “because I knew nobody could, and I thought you must miss it. It didn’t seem fair. But when you came back...the first time you touched me...the first time we....” Harry shivered. “I thought I must have died and gone to the heaven I don’t believe in. I didn’t think the hand of God could feel any better.” He placed Bob’s hand on his chest, slowly lifting and stroking each finger in turn, and interlocking his between them.

“Your hands, expressing...everything you are. Firm. Hot – Gods!” He laughed softly. “And gentle. So loving. I know you worry that you can’t always tell me things. It’s okay, because your hands tell me what’s in your heart all the time,” Harry reassured him.

“Harry! You take my breath away with the things you say,” Bob whispered in his ear, dazed both by Harry’s confession and the effect of his touch. “The things you are not afraid to say.” He thought that if Harry put one of his fingers in his mouth, he would come shortly thereafter.

“I wish I could do the same,” he sighed, “although your talent for blasphemy eludes me,” he admitted with a smile. “I’m never going to stop trying to tell you, I promise. Your faith in me – your belief in me – is something I still cannot comprehend. You have given me the strength to do things I never thought I would, or could. And it’s all because you believe in me. Because you love me.

“I now have value, and that’s something I’ve never truly believed I had. I managed to behave as if I did, but I knew I was a liar,” he confessed. “If I should fall tomorrow and shatter into a thousand pieces, you will be there to pick me up and put me back together, because to you I’m worth it. There can be no ordinary value calculated on that, Harry. I call you my treasure because you are priceless to me.”

Harry’s response was to pull Bob over him, murmuring softly what he wanted him to do. Bob was quite happy to take direction.

That evening, Harry ventured to suggest use of the old Victorian tub, so they took a bottle of wine and glasses and a couple of candles up the steeply winding stairs, making sure there were plenty of towels. Harry was amazed at the idea of a towel-warmer. What would they think of next?

Being able to sit in the blissfully hot water in semi-darkness was a uniquely relaxing experience for both of them – for Harry because he could see how much Bob was enjoying it, and for Bob not only because he was with Harry, but because it was something he had literally never done before – at least, not in such comfort.

There was a short discussion as to what, exactly, they might end up doing in the tub, and comfort and cleanliness won out. It was decided that tempting though it might be, sex in their present semi-contorted positions would likely be less than stellar, and there were better places for that. And truth to tell, both of them were in need of a bit of rest, though neither would have admitted it.

They killed the wine, frequently warming up the tub with more hot water. After considerable laughter, much dropping of soap and a wet floor resulted from washing each other, they ended simply sitting in companionable silence until the water got too cold. Harry thought a wet Bob, his cotton-white hair mussed and spiky, wrapped in warm towels, was about as cute as it got. For his part, Bob thoroughly enjoyed the affectionate rubdown from a naked and dripping Harry.

A good time having been had by all, they withdrew to the charms of the bedroom suite and its fireplace again, but their evening activity was confined to dinner, some serious snogging and cuddling, and a couple of DVDs before they fell asleep wrapped in each other.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Harry pondered that Bob was always up well before he was at home, and now it was the reverse. It seemed like he’d been catching up on his sleep for days, ever since.... Well Harry, you’re an idiot now, aren’t you? Maybe he’s feeling a bit more settled, more permanent, these days. Happier, more secure. Wow.

Scooting back into bed, Harry pressed his cold feet against Bob’s legs, grinning to himself.

“Not.Nice.”

“Good morning.”

This was met with a mutter as Bob rolled over, swiftly moving his legs out of the way while pressing his back against Harry’s chest. This had the effect of making connection with a soft, fuzzy electric blanket, and he sighed in happy warmth.

“You hedonist, you.”

“Why are you determined to be so annoying this morning?”

“All the better to get you out of bed, my lord. The snow’s melted – well, mostly – and I thought you might want to go out riding. I need to call the front desk and let them know.”

“It will be freezing, you know,” Bob sighed. “So cold we’ll see the horses’ breath, and our own, as we gallop. Our sweat will freeze to our skin. Vermin running across the virgin snow. Snowy owls screeching at us for ruining their run at prey.”

“Virgin snow?” Harry snorted. “Okay, well, it was just an i - ”

“Pick up that phone right now, Harry Dresden.”

“Hey – ow!” Harry flinched as Bob bit him on the shoulder and pinched him hard on the ass at the same time.

“You can’t do that when we go downstairs.”

“Obviously – which is why I’m doing it now.”

“And _I’m_ annoying?” Harry rolled onto his back, laughing. He reached for the phone.

They took their time getting dressed, trying to figure out what they’d brought with them that was warmest. Harry just hoped they were clad in enough layers to keep from freezing. Descending from the tower to the lobby and the hotel’s restaurant, he wondered how many ‘honeymoon couples’ the staff had sniggered at over the years, coming down the stairs for the first time – few of whom, he assumed, cared about it any more than he and Bob did. Yeah. Uh-huh.

Breakfast was also leisurely, since they had to wait for the horses to be sent over from the nearest letting stables. Hands warming over a steaming mug of coffee, Harry knew he’d never be a tea-drinker – but he was definitely attached to English breakfasts. When they got home, he’d have to see if he could find some place serving them in the city.

As they stood outside waiting for the horses to be brought around, Harry fingered the small flasks of spirits he carried, one in each pocket. For medicinal purposes, of course. Mounting up, his eyes went to the fine, soft leather gloves Bob wore, fingers taking the reins with confidence. For a moment, Harry’s head swam with the possibilities that could present themselves after the ride.

It was as beautiful – and cold - a day as Bob had teased him it would be. They kept within sight of the main buildings until they were sure the footing was good. Bob, he sensed, wanted to let the horses out, and once they hit a part of the grounds where the snow had entirely melted he let his horse go, and Harry followed.

Out in the open countryside, the smile never left Bob’s face. Harry wished he could have a video of him galloping over the dales, his cheeks rosy with the cold, pale eyes sparkling. While he sometimes seemed rather lost in the city, he looked very much like he belonged here in this wild and beautiful country. As painful as it had been for both of them, Harry had done good, bringing Bob home.

They never saw their owl, but they saw plenty of hares and even a fox, and Bob pointed out a red-tailed hawk, circling high above them. While they let the horses rest they each nipped at one of the flasks, warming their insides if not their exteriors.

“Bless you for thinking of this.” Bob toasted Harry. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. Riding was the only time I could think and behave as I wished. The horses expected nothing from me except common sense, and kept their own counsel. I was as happy then, being alone, as I am being with you now.”

“It’s okay, you know, if you want to do this alone sometimes. I’ll understand,” Harry told him. “Just you and Emma.” Bob reached out and pressed his knee in thanks.

“Poor Emma. I worry that she won’t be entirely happy in Chicago,” Harry sighed.

“I know. We’ll just have to do our best to make sure she has fields to run in, and birds and rabbits to chase, when we can.”

“’But it’ll be like...caging her,” Harry protested.

“She’ll be content with us to look after, Harry. Cages aren’t always as bad as they seem. Believe me.”

“Aw, Bob,” Harry sighed, taking his meaning.

“It’s perfectly all right, love,” Bob told him, leaning over for a kiss. “She’ll be fine.”

His horse dancing beneath him, Bob was eager to be off again. He pointed to the crest of a hillock about three-quarters of a mile away.

“Race you,” he challenged, wheeled his horse around and was gone, leaving Harry to catch up again.

He didn’t mind in the least. He too appreciated the power between his legs; he’d always loved that about riding. It’s just that being around Bob when he was astride too – it was doing things to him. When he pulled his snorting horse up beside Bob’s, breathing hard himself, their eyes met. Bob reached down and stroked his animal’s withers with his gloved hand, his eyes not leaving Harry’s. The sudden rush of blood to Harry’s cock was uncomfortable, and he shifted in the saddle. Bob noticed. A wicked little smile played around the corners of his mouth.

“Race you,” Harry gasped. “Back. Now.” He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and took off, gritting his teeth at the ache between his legs.

This race, he won – but not by much, as Bob was right behind him all the way. They had to slow as they came into the Abbey grounds, letting the animals cool off a little. By the time they handed the horses off to the hotel staff, Harry could hardly walk. He thundered up the stairs to their suite, barely suppressing the urge to grab Bob by the arm and haul him behind.

Once the door was shut, he was manic with need. He looked, Bob thought, as if he might cry in frustration.

“Harry - ”

“Gods, Bob - ”

“Harry - listen to me. Harry!” He sharpened his voice to make sure he kept Harry’s attention. He got a whimper of acknowledgement.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, stripping off his own and dropping them in a wet lump on the carpet. He grabbed the lube out of the night table and went to sit back in a large, low-armed, Queen Anne wingback chair which stood near one wall.

“Do hurry up,” he urged, enjoying the sight of Harry trying to rip his clothes off while hampered by a luscious hard-on. He wasn’t going to tease Harry unduly, but he wasn’t above having some gentle fun.

“Sonofabitch,” Harry growled, throwing him a dirty look.

“You said you wanted to go for a ride, Harry - ?”

Finally, naked, panting and dripping with sweat, Harry advanced on Bob – who held out the lube to him in gloved hands.

“You will do the honors for both of us, won’t you? Otherwise I shall have to take these off and do it myself, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Bob asked.

Harry groaned loudly, biting his lip so hard he broke the skin. Clumsily, he coated Bob’s stiff cock and then squirted lube on his fingers, spreading it around his entrance.

“Come on boy, let’s have a good ride,” Bob purred, reaching up to help Harry straddle him. He could see the muscles in Harry’s thighs quivering as he maneuvered over his cock, and then Harry deliberately released his weight, his hands reaching out to grasp Bob’s shoulders.

This was something they hadn’t tried before. Harry was very tight around him, and white-hot in contrast to their chilled skin. Bob was going to ask if he was all right, if he shouldn’t go slower and take his time but from the look on his face, Harry clearly could not take his time.

He wondered if this was how a bucking bronco felt, being ridden by a cowboy, for Harry was surely riding him, fast and deep. His raw grunts of lust were so loud they bounced off the walls. He had teased Harry, but surrounded by such beauty so lost in passion, Bob was in danger of losing control himself – and he wanted to.

“Shhhhh,” he soothed, running his gloved hands down Harry’s sides and over his chest, “it’s all right, boy, easy. Easy there,” he whispered, holding onto Harry, stroking him, trying to gentle his wild stallion.

Though it was hard for Harry to register anything but the release he was galloping towards, he shivered at the feel of Bob’s leather-clad hands caressing him. Recognition of that part of him only Bob knew, and the understanding that only Bob could give him, was sweet. He leaned forward so his chest pressed against Bob’s. Warm, pliant leather soon surrounded his cock, stroking intently.

Harry grasped Bob’s beautiful thick hair, holding his head firmly as his tongue sought entrance to Bob’s mouth, found it, and pressed home. A moan deep in Bob’s throat vibrated against his tongue, and Bob thrust his hips up sharply, coming inside him. The sudden warmth, and Bob’s sob of release, took him over the edge and he came, wantonly, in the gloved hands, crying out Bob’s name as Bob whispered his. He slumped forward, clinging tightly, his arms around Bob’s neck.

Harry didn’t remember anything for a while after that. He had a vague recollection at some point of his bent knees hurting him, and he had a flash or two of Bob putting him to bed, but he never really recalled the rest of that day or evening. Bob told him he’d awakened and they’d eaten and talked and spent the rest of the day in a normal way, but Harry never could remember any of that. The only thing he remembered, he would say years later, is Bob being there for him, holding onto him in perfect understanding of his need. And if the subject came up, as it did occasionally, he remembered it as the most erotic act of love he experienced in all their years together. He never let Bob throw out the well-used gloves, either.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was difficult to think of leaving, but Bob knew they couldn’t stay forever. They could have remained for Christmas, but England wasn’t home for Harry. As prickly as his friendships sometimes were, those were the people he considered family and would want to be with. When he broached the subject, Harry hemmed and hawed and said they could stay awhile if Bob wanted to, but he didn’t protest when Bob said it was time to go home. Christmas in the city held its own delights, and the bright lights and cheerful crowds were pleasing too. It all made him feel a part of Harry’s life.

They would drive back to Bainbridge and stay the night to visit with Tessa and Caroline once more, and to collect Emma. They would come back, of course - they both wanted to - but it would be a while. The good memories now overshadowed the bad ones, but the pain had been too great to revisit without some time to let the darkness dissipate.

Still, they knew they would see Tessa again – with luck, on some future opening night. Harry had arranged for a bank draft to be delivered anonymously after they were home. Tessa would be able to go on with her studies and auditions in London, and wouldn’t have to sell the shop. The Abbey would undoubtedly be the scene of one or more anniversaries. But that was Some Day, and both Harry and Bob were sad at their impending departure.

Tearful goodbyes were said, and bags were packed. Plane tickets were verified. Emma paced excitedly in the back seat of the car. Bob’s stomach was doing flip-flops even before they drove out of the village. When he realized they weren’t taking the Manchester road but were heading up Cam Road towards the site of the vanished manor and the Roman fort, he was puzzled, and uneasy.

Harry stopped the car, opened the doors, and motioned for Bob to get out. Emma was already sniffing everywhere.

“What are we doing here, Harry?” Bob asked.

Saying nothing, Harry led him within the boundaries of the old fort, to a low-piled circle of stones that looked remarkably similar to Master Bartholomew’s, so many centuries ago. He was more than uneasy now.

“Why, Harry? I cannot do this. You mean well, but – no. I cannot.” Bob shrugged dismissively.

“You can do it. You’re every bit as much of a ‘natural wizard’, as you call it, as I am,” Harry insisted.

“I’ve told you, I’ve tried such things before and I simply cannot. It’s not in me, Harry. I’m not like you,” he sighed.

“I don’t think you’ve ever _really_ tried, Bob. Tried hard, believing you could do it. Tried because someone else was sure you could.”

“Don’t, Harry. Can you imagine how much it will hurt to fail, yet again?” Bob pleaded with him.

“Bob – have I ever been wrong, about...you?” Harry asked gently.

“Harry - ”

“Have I?”

 

Bob sighed. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”

“So – light us a fire, mister. It’s getting chilly standing around up here.”

“I wouldn’t know how to begin.”

“Remember what you used to tell me, when I didn’t know how? Let yourself feel the power running through your body. Find it, examine it, nurture it, focus it, and - use it.”

“But you had power virtually spilling out of you – more than enough. I - ”

“...have the same power,” Harry assured him. “Take your time.”

“No,” Bob breathed, fear sending stabbing pains through his head.

“I’m not asking you to do this for me, Bob. It’s not about me. I’m asking you to do this for you. Please,” Harry persisted. “You deserve it.”

“Damn you,” Bob whispered. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down, closing his eyes.

Harry, realizing Bob was trying to gather his concentration, held his breath, almost literally.

Bob took in great gulps of air, now throwing his head and shoulders back. His eyes remained closed. At first, his arms lay at his sides, fists clenched in...doubt? Anger? Despair, perhaps.

After several minutes, Harry saw a change in Bob’s posture. Some of the bowstring-tightness was released from his body. His arms were raised, hands palm-up. His lips moved soundlessly.

Harry’s own fists were now clenched, fingernails digging into his palms. He could not be wrong about this. He couldn’t. He’d felt it so strongly from the beginning, when Bob had told him. What if Bob couldn’t convince himself - because that’s what it would come down to in the end, his belief in himself. Had Harry given him enough to believe in?

A cold wind whipped up around them. Please don’t let it ruin his concentration, Harry prayed. Beside him, Emma whined. “Stay.”

Eyes still tightly closed, Bob placed his palms together and pointed them down at the ring of stones, in a gesture that looked almost like a prayer, but was instead a focus for his energy...his power.

Please. Please, Harry pleaded silently.

Minutes passed, and he began to despair. Yet Bob hadn’t moved, and instead of breaking his concentration and stalking off in disgust, he seemed to have gone deeper inside himself.

_Harry’s right. I cannot leave without settling this once and for all. He will finally know then, as will I. But know...what? Am I so accustomed to failure that I cannot conceive of success? What if Harry is right? What if I simply have not been able to find and channel my own natural abilities?_ _As a_ _boy, he was always more afraid of my disappointment at his failure than his own lack. Am I no wiser than a child, after all these years_?

_Harry said Bartholomew wouldn’t have taken me on if he hadn’t believed I had the power in me naturally. But he didn’t teach me anything about my own magic because he knew I was, or would be, more powerful than he was. He feared my potential._

_Why does Harry not fear it? Why does he encourage a dark, tortured man who lived a dark life?. Because, he tells me, he knows I will not go back there again. He knows. Do I believe that is enough?_

_A ridiculous question; Harry himself is enough. More than I have prayed for. And if Harry has this dream for me, it can come true if I believe in myself as much as he believes. Very well, then. If I could teach Harry to do this, I can do it, too._

Harry was afraid it was his imagination. He thought he felt a slight warmth countermanding the chill of the wind. He held his breath again, staring at the stones. Surely, he saw waves of hot air begin to rise upward from the pile? And then, finally, a very faint glow. He wanted to jump up and down and shout I told you so! and hug Bob breathless, but he stayed where he was, wondering how long it would take before Bob felt the fire he’d started.

“Ahhh!” Bob hissed sharply in annoyance – and opened his eyes. He’d been holding his hands over the stones for so long, they felt as if they burned. The first thing he saw was flames dancing over the stones. The second was Harry’s grin.

“Took you long enough.”

“You didn’t - ”

“Oh, please!” Harry laughed. “NO! I had nothing to do with that. YOU did it, oh great and powerful wizard! Mighty Hrothbert, who I love more than life,” he finished softly, moving in for the hug. Emma danced around them, barking, her tail wagging furiously.

“Yeh, well, he is slow sometimes.” Harry laughed at her antics. “Silly ass has this problem with doubting himself. We’ll have to help him grow out of that, eh girl?”

“You were wrong about one thing, Harry,” Bob murmured, pressing his face into the soft suede of Harry’s jacket. “It _was_ about you.” Dizzy and shaking from his effort but well content, he let Harry support him.

Lesson learned - for such happiness as this, he would dare anything.

The dark pieces of himself he was leaving here in Bainbridge would fade from his psyche like artist’s chalk in the rain. He was a new man. He would have a new life – and a husband. Harry’s heartbeat echoed against his ear.

“Come on,” Harry murmured, “let’s catch that plane and go home.”

It would not matter to him where they were or where they lived – for Bob, natural wizard and last lord of Bainbridge, home would always be Harry.

 


End file.
